#sighing until the ground crumbles

[sqtorux]

whew adulted a lil too much today my silly deflated and there are no pre made smau drafts. im so mad bc i wanted to put one out today smh smh

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Yakuza x Reader

I've been plagued by this idea for a while, so let me know what you think! This is just the character introduction. Your new landlord is a Yakuza boss, and his scary looking underling has been tasked to deal with your tenant needs! Although he didn't expect you to be this cute. And you didn't expect him to be this unhinged.

Content: female reader, violence, mentions of stalking

[Part 2] | [Yakuza Masterlist]

This was the last straw.

You're angrily stuffing your suitcase with necessities before the moving company arrives. Each glimpse around the cramped apartment fills you with outrage, as you're still heavily shaken from the events of last night. 

You first begun to suspect you might have a stalker when you found your outer lock with a fresh dent in it. You then picked a small scrap from the ground nearby and assumed it was leftover damage, but upon further inspection you discovered, disgusted, that it was part of your peephole. Someone must've fiddled with your door a fair amount. You tried to approach your immediate neighbors for help, but they either refused to answer your persistent knocks or downright scurried away when faced with your questions. They didn't want to deal with a foreigner. 

You tried to put it behind you. The police advised you to be cautions, as there was nothing else they could do without concrete evidence. And thankfully, you had several peaceful weeks following the incident. Last night you were suddenly awakened by faint scratches coming from your balcony. You groggily got up and wondered if your recently added bird feeder was attracting nocturnal visitors. You got up without turning on the light, hoping to catch a glimpse of the mysterious animal. As you pulled the drape, however, you were met with the large frame of a man plucking your laundry in a hurry. 

A panicked scream erupted from the depths of your chest and you slapped the light switch, erratically searching for your phone. By the time you dialed emergency, the intruder had vanished. You were sobbing against the wall under the fake reassurances of the operator, eyeing the sliding door that had no lock. Had he wished, the masked man could've easily invited himself in. You were at the mercy of a lunatic and no one seemed to be impressed by your situation. 

No more. Ideally you'd go back to your home country and forget about your plans to build yourself a life in Japan. What were you even thinking? A lonely girl, low on funds, signing a contract to be relocated across the ocean for work. You barely scraped the first months of a mandatory year. 

You close your suitcase with a satisfying click and on your way out you wipe the table of all the newspaper clippings. You've been scanning the potential offers on the market. The ones within your budget, of course, which means you don't have to worry about being picky. Until you find a new place, your belongings can wait in storage. Dusty furniture is a better prospect than waking up with a pervert looming over you. 

By the time the clock hits evening hours, you're sipping on your iced coffee with a defeated sigh. Most of the cheap apartments seem to be given to locals. Not outsiders like you. At least they spared you of the false hopes and curtly told you to not expect any call back, so you can swiftly move on to the next circled address. You pull out the crumbled sheet of paper from your pocket. Reading over your list of crossed out lines like this deflates you greatly. At the very bottom lies your final hope: the ad you'd stumbled upon this morning was too good to be true and the realtor was available for viewing at any time, so you're almost certain it's some sort of scam. Yet you can't afford to skip it, can you? You stand up, pat your jeans and take a deep breath in. 

As you check your phone to confirm the location, you begin to doubt your decision. It's hard to believe no other potential renters have showed up. The apartment is in a convenient area, very close to public transport, at a great price, on what looks like a busy street. Isn't it the dream? So why? You glance around, examining the surroundings. The shops are bustling with people. You try to come up with possible explanations, when a deep voice startles you.

"You must be (Y/N), right? You sure are easy to spot."

You turn around to greet the person. Although the second you spot him, you take an unconscious step back. You'd expected a middle aged man dressed in formal attire with a shy bow and clumsy movements. The one standing before you resembles none of that. He's imposingly tall, with a muscular built and slicked back hair. You can discern the tattoos peeking out from under the rolled up sleeves. His face has multiple deep scars and you can only assume that the pale, discolored eye that's transfixed in one direction is a fake made of glass. One might call him handsome, if you're into the kind of appearance you see in documentaries about the mafia. 

"Y-you're the landlord?" You stutter, immediately covering your mouth and regretting your lack of tact. 

"Nuh uh, Boss sent me to deal with it." He flashes you a genuine grin, completely unperturbed by your offhanded implication. "I'm Daitou."

He continues towards the entrance and you follow behind, too awkward to back down now. He describes the living quarters with surprising enthusiasm. If you were to close your eyes and disregard his heavy Kansai accent, you could very well be convinced it's a professional real estate agent hard at work. 

"Excuse me for asking, but..." Once he finishes his marketing presentation, you cannot help the increasing anxiety. "What's the catch?"

"Huh?"

"For something like this to be so cheap...and no one else being interested...may I be frank and ask what's wrong with it? Please understand, I just left my previous apartment because of a stalker. I don't want to be packing again anytime soon."

"Well, isn't it obvious?" He searches your gaze for a moment, before gasping as if remembering something. "Wait, you're a foreigner, so I guess you don't know. Ah, that explains it." 

He lets out a hearty laugh, satisfied with his conclusion. 

"You didn't notice anything strange outside?"

You ponder his question before slowly shaking your head in denial. 

"Really? A bunch of heavily tattooed guys with family pins on their suits...This is a yakuza quarter. Our Family owns most businesses here. But lately we've had a lot of police on our backs, ya know? Bound to happen when the street is swarming with us. So Boss had this great idea - he's smart like that, ya know, I've never been the bright one - anyways, he suggested we rent some of our housing to regular civilians. Less suspicious that way." 

He crosses his arms and nods to himself proudly. 

"I myself think it's a great deal. You won't find anything cheaper for the kind of stuff you're getting. All you have to do is, you know, mind your business. If some weasel questions you, no Sir, you haven't seen or heard anything suspicious. That's all."

You can only stare wide eyed, somewhat taken aback by his honesty.

"Uh...Are you sure you were supposed to tell me all of this? I feel we're skipping some steps before admitting to organized crime."

Now it's his turn to consider your inquiry. 

"Probably not, but I'm not good with words. You look like a smart girl, so I thought I won't sugarcoat it. I'm sure you already know that if you leave and rat us out I'll be throwing your chopped up remains in the nearby river. Or would you want to be shipped home instead? I'm a nice guy like that, hehe."

You return a crooked smile and purse your lips in the process. You'd rather not learn the percentage of truth in his humor anytime soon. 

"You mentioned a stalker? I can guarantee you he won't follow here, miss. And if he's that dumb to wander on our turf, well, me and my guys always hang around the block. Leave him to me and I'll bring you his teeth in a box." 

"I-...Why teeth of all the things?"

"Just easier to pull out, ya know." He winks and reaches for his back pocket, revealing an old pair of pliers with childish delight. "See, I'm a bit of a handyman, so I always have some tools on me."

Strangely enough, you're not as terrified as you would expect from someone in your shoes. Certainly your knees are weaker when compared to your pre-encounter state, but there's something about his demeanor that doesn't feel malicious or threatening. Like conversing with an old friend at a pub. 

"Will I truly not get in trouble? You guys do your thing and I'm 100% not involved?"

"You have my word." And with that, as if closing the sale of his lifetime, he confidently slaps a stack of papers on the nearby counter and hands you a pen. "You already have my number, if anyone pisses you off just hit me up and I'll be at your service. Boss left everything to me."

No perverts and less of your monthly allowance going towards rent. Maybe it's your despair talking, but you've been persuaded nonetheless. You scribble your name in the designated field and shove the documents towards your new acquaintance. 

"Pleasure doing business with you, miss (Y/N)." He cheerfully dangles the keys before dropping them in your hand and heads for the door.

"Oh, is shipping included in the rent?"

He stops and turns to you, mildly confused.

"You said if I mess up you'll ship my remains home. Do I pay for the postage myself, or is that part of the monthly tax?" You ask with a cheeky grin. 

His eyes narrow in delight and you can tell he's greatly amused by your words. 

"Nah, consider it a gift from me. Gotta treat a lady nice, 'specially if it's a pretty one like you."

And with that, you're alone again. You look around the room, trying to visualize your new home. It's already getting dark outside. Now that you've had the situation explained to you, you can definitely see what Daitou meant. There's the occasional police officer patrolling the street, and plenty of men dressed in similar fashion walking in small groups. 

"And?"

Outside the building, a young man is leaning against the wall with a cigarette in his mouth. He seems to have been waiting for Daitou. 

"It's done. Some cute foreigner is moving in." He lifts an arm in a flexing motion, patting his bicep in a congratulatory manner. "Boss will be surprised, eh?"

"You're fucking with me."

"What? You wanna go back upstairs and check?" He responds, appalled. "Might've taken longer than expected, but I told ya I can manage!"

"Are you sure you didn't threaten her or something? I still don't know what Boss was thinking when he asked a nutcase like you to deal with the civvies." 

"Hey hey hey, I may not be all fancy speaking like you or Kazuya, but I'm not dumb. Matter of fact, she already signed the papers."

"I never said you're dumb. Just batshit crazy." The young man sighs and flicks his cigarette butt away, stomping on it.

"Let's go and tell the others."

[solxamber]

Hello, I love your writing! The isekai fics are so fun, Vil's was my favorite! Can I request the twst boys (+ staff if you have inspiration for it) comforting a reader who just breaks down in tears after the seventh overblot is resolved because they haven't had much support and time to process being in a new world away from everything they've ever known, were basically told to play therapist by Crowley, and have had their life and their friends lives at risk. Lots of angst but mostly comfort in the end! Thank you if you write this!

7th Overblot Aftermath

Characters: All NRC + Staff

hi! and thank you so much 🫶 vil was the first one I wrote I'm glad you liked it. I love this request and I hope you like it <3

The aftermath of Malleus’s overblot felt surreal. The sky had cleared, but the air was still heavy with the weight of what had just happened. It was over. Finally over. You had seen seven overblots now, each one pushing you and your friends to the edge, forcing you to confront darkness that shouldn’t have existed in people you had come to care for.

But this one had felt different. Maybe it was because of the sheer power Malleus wielded, or maybe it was because of how fragile the world around you had seemed as you fought to bring him back. You had nearly lost him—nearly lost everyone. And you were so, so tired.

Your knees gave out, hitting the ground with a soft thud. You stared at the grass beneath you, eyes blurring with unshed tears. Everyone was celebrating the victory, but all you could think about was the sheer exhaustion gnawing at your bones, the burden of playing mediator, therapist, and survivor all at once. You hadn’t signed up for this. You had been thrown into this world without warning, away from everything you had ever known, and you hadn’t had a moment to breathe since.

“I’m so tired…” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

And then it all came crashing down. The walls you had so carefully built around yourself crumbled, and before you knew it, tears were streaming down your face. Quiet at first, but then the sobs came harder, your shoulders shaking as you finally let yourself break.

You barely registered footsteps approaching until a pair of hands rested gently on your shoulders.

Ace Trappola

"Hey, hey," Ace’s voice broke the silence, softer than you’d ever heard it before. “What’s wrong? You’re... crying.”

You hiccuped, trying to suppress the sobs that wouldn’t stop coming. Ace was never one for emotional moments—at least, not the serious kind. He usually joked his way out of anything too heavy, but right now, he seemed out of his depth.

“C’mon, don’t cry,” he mumbled, his voice awkward but concerned. “We’ve been through worse, right? I mean, we beat Malleus of all people. If we can get through that, we can get through anything.”

He crouched beside you, his hand patting your shoulder in an attempt to be comforting, though he was clearly fumbling. “Just… talk to us, okay? We’re here. You don’t have to keep everything inside.”

You shook your head, not trusting your voice, but the tears kept coming. Ace sighed, running a hand through his hair, clearly unsure of what else to say, but he stayed close, his presence enough to remind you that you weren’t alone.

Deuce Spade

Deuce knelt down beside you, his expression full of concern. His hand hovered over your back, unsure whether to touch you, as if he was afraid of making things worse. He eventually settled on patting your back gently, his voice unsteady but earnest.

“It’s okay,” Deuce whispered, his usual tough demeanor nowhere to be found. “It’s gonna be okay. We’re all here for you. I—I didn’t realize how much you’ve been going through.”

His face was a mix of worry and guilt, as if he felt bad for not noticing sooner. “You don’t have to do everything on your own anymore. You’ve been looking out for us this whole time, and I… I didn’t see how much that’s been hurting you.”

You couldn’t respond, your throat tight with emotion. Deuce, seeing your tears still falling, gently shifted closer, offering the only comfort he knew how: his presence. “We’re friends, right? And friends help each other. So… let us help you, okay?”

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle appeared beside you, his normally rigid posture softer now. He knelt down, placing a hand on your arm, his touch surprisingly tentative. He looked at you for a moment, eyes filled with unspoken regret before he spoke.

“I should have seen how much you’ve been carrying,” Riddle began, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “You’ve been through so much—more than any of us realized. I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner.”

His words were measured, careful, as if he was trying not to overwhelm you. “I’ve been so focused on maintaining order, on fixing things after my own mistakes, that I failed to recognize how much weight you’ve been holding on your own.”

He sighed softly, guilt clear in his voice. “You’ve been our support through everything, but you’ve had no one to lean on yourself. That’s not fair to you, and it’s not something you should have had to do alone.”

Riddle stayed close, his hand still resting on your arm, offering comfort in the only way he knew how—through quiet sincerity.

Trey Clover

Trey crouched down beside you, his presence calm and steady, like always. He didn’t say anything at first, just rested a hand gently on your shoulder, waiting for your sobs to slow. He wasn’t one for grand gestures or overly emotional words, but he didn’t need them. His quiet support spoke volumes.

“You’ve been doing a lot for everyone,” Trey said softly, his voice low and warm. “More than anyone should have to. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed.”

He offered you a tissue, waiting patiently as you wiped your face, though the tears kept coming. Trey’s hand stayed on your shoulder, a grounding weight.

“You don’t have to keep everything bottled up,” he continued, his tone gentle. “We’re all in this together, you know? If you need a break, if you need someone to listen… we’re here. I’m here.”

There was no judgment in his voice, no impatience, just the quiet assurance that he’d be there for you whenever you needed.

Cater Diamond

Cater slid down beside you, his usual carefree smile nowhere in sight. Instead, his eyes were soft with concern as he pulled out a tissue and handed it to you.

“Y’know, it’s okay to break down sometimes,” Cater said quietly, watching as you wiped your face. His voice was unusually subdued, and for once, there was no joking, no lightheartedness to deflect from the situation.

“We’ve all been through a lot,” he continued, “but I think you’ve been carrying more than the rest of us. Crowley’s been dumping all this stuff on you, expecting you to handle everything, but you shouldn’t have to. Not alone.”

Cater leaned back slightly, his expression thoughtful. “You’ve been the glue holding us together. But who’s been holding you together, huh?”

You let out a shaky breath, trying to answer, but the tears just kept coming. Cater didn’t push. He just sat beside you, his presence steady, offering you the space to cry without judgment.

“It’s okay to let it out,” he said, his voice soft. “We’ve got you now.”

Leona Kingscholar

Leona crouched down next to you, his green eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of your trembling form. He let out an exasperated sigh, as if annoyed by the situation—not by you, but by everything you’d been forced to endure.

“Ugh, this is exactly why I hate people like Crowley,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Always dumping stuff on others and never dealin’ with the mess themselves.”

He placed a heavy, warm hand on your back, his grip firm but comforting. “Listen, you ain’t weak for feelin’ like this. You’ve done more than enough, and I don’t blame you for breakin’ down. Hell, anyone else would’ve lost it way before you did.”

Leona’s tone softened slightly, his voice low and steady. “You’re tougher than most of the idiots I know. So, stop thinkin’ you gotta do everything yourself. Just rest already.” He grumbled something under his breath about humans overworking themselves, but stayed close by, a quiet, protective presence.

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie hunkered down next to you, his usual cheeky grin replaced by something much softer. He clicked his tongue, shaking his head lightly. “Sheesh, you really let all that pile up on ya, huh?”

He gave you a light nudge with his elbow, playful but careful. “Look, you don’t gotta carry everything by yourself, ya know? I get it—you’re tough. But even tough people gotta take a break now and then, yeah?”

Ruggie’s eyes gleamed with empathy, his voice taking on a gentle, comforting tone you didn’t hear often from him. “Life’s been a little unfair to ya, huh? I mean, Crowley dumpin’ all that responsibility on you… it’s not right. But you’re here, and you’re still standin’, even after all that.”

He flashed you a small, reassuring smile. “But you don’t gotta stand alone. You’ve got us now. Lemme know if you need a break—I’ll hustle for the both of us.” Ruggie winked, his familiar mischievousness flickering back into his expression, but the concern in his eyes remained genuine.

Jack Howl

Jack’s ears twitched as he knelt down beside you, his tail swaying slowly with a sense of unease. He wasn’t great with words, but the sight of you breaking down hit him harder than he expected. “Hey,” he began softly, his voice gruff but sincere. “You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?”

His hand hovered awkwardly for a second before settling firmly on your shoulder. Jack wasn’t sure how to help, but he wanted to—more than anything. “I know you’ve been strong… probably stronger than anyone should have to be. But it’s okay to let it out.”

He shifted slightly, trying to find the right words. “I… I know how it feels to be away from everything familiar. To feel like you don’t have anyone to lean on. But that’s not true. You’ve got me. You’ve got all of us.”

His grip on your shoulder tightened briefly, like he was silently reassuring you of his support. “You don’t have to face all of this alone. We’re here for you. And I’m not gonna let anything happen to you—or anyone else.”

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul approached you cautiously, his usual calm and collected demeanor faltering as he saw you crumbling under the weight of everything. His steps were slow, calculated, but there was an unusual tightness in his chest. He knelt down beside you, his expression torn between concern and his usual polished facade.

“You’ve… been carrying quite the burden, haven’t you?” he asked softly, though there was a certain edge to his voice, almost as if he was angry—at the world, at Crowley, at everything that had led to this moment.

His hand hovered over your shoulder for a moment before he rested it gently, almost hesitantly. “I won’t lie to you,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “I’ve always admired how capable you are. But no one should be expected to handle what you have. Crowley’s negligence… it’s unacceptable.”

Azul glanced away briefly, his sharp gaze softening. “But you’re not alone anymore. You have us. You have me. And I promise, I won’t let anyone take advantage of you again—not without consequence.”

There was a sincerity in his words that Azul rarely revealed, a vulnerability hidden beneath his usual polished exterior. “You don’t have to keep being strong on your own. Allow yourself to lean on someone else for once.”

Jade Leech

Jade knelt gracefully beside you, his usual serene smile gone, replaced with a look of quiet concern. His movements were slow, deliberate, as though he was gauging how best to approach the situation. “My, you’ve been holding this all in for quite some time, haven’t you?” he asked, his voice as smooth as ever, but with an underlying warmth that was rare for him.

He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, his fingers light but reassuring. “You’ve done more than anyone could ask of you. It’s no surprise that you feel overwhelmed.”

Jade’s gaze flickered over your trembling form, his mismatched eyes studying you carefully. “It’s a great deal of responsibility to bear, especially in a world so far from your own. But… you’re not alone.”

There was a softness in his tone that you didn’t expect, his usual composed demeanor shifting. “You’ve been strong for everyone else. Now, allow yourself to rest. Let us take care of things for a while. You’ve certainly earned it.”

He smiled gently, his hand still resting on your shoulder, steady and reliable. “And do not worry. Should anyone try to take advantage of your kindness again, they will have me to deal with.”

Floyd Leech

Floyd approached you in his typical loose, carefree stride, but when he saw the state you were in, his usual playful grin vanished. His steps quickened, and before you knew it, he was crouched down right in front of you, his mismatched eyes widening in genuine concern. “Whoa, hey, hey! What’s this?” he asked, tilting his head as he examined your tear-streaked face.

Without hesitation, he pulled you into a tight hug—so sudden and fierce that it left you breathless for a second. “You can’t cry like this, Shrimpy. It doesn’t suit you,” he said, his voice unusually soft, though still carrying that familiar teasing edge.

Floyd squeezed you tighter, his long arms wrapping around you like a lifeline. “If things are bad, you should’ve just told me. I’d go squeeze the life outta Crowley for you—he deserves it.” He chuckled, but his grip didn’t loosen, like he was afraid you might fall apart if he let go.

He leaned back slightly, still holding you close. “You don’t gotta be strong all the time, you know? You’re my friend, and I don’t let my friends break down alone. So, whenever you feel like this, just come find me. I’ll squeeze the sadness right outta ya.” His words, though playful, carried a weight of sincerity that made your heart ache a little less.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil stood before you, his expression unreadable, though his eyes held a rare softness. “You’ve let yourself reach this point of exhaustion,” he sighed, shaking his head slightly. “It’s not your fault, but you shouldn’t have been forced to carry this burden alone.”

He knelt beside you, his touch gentle but firm as he took your hand. “You’ve been strong for so long, but even the strongest need time to recuperate. Don’t mistake vulnerability for weakness. It takes great strength to admit you need help.”

Vil brushed a stray tear from your cheek, his voice dropping to a softer tone. “You’ve given so much of yourself, but now, it’s time to prioritize your own well-being. I won’t let you neglect yourself any longer. Remember, even a diamond can crack if too much pressure is applied.”

Rook Hunt

Rook’s eyes sparkled with emotion as he knelt gracefully beside you, his usual exuberance tempered by an uncharacteristic stillness. “Ah, mon ami, you have been carrying such a heavy heart all this time,” he whispered, his voice a melodic lilt.

He placed a hand on your shoulder, his touch light, almost reverent. “To be in a world so foreign, surrounded by danger, yet still you’ve stood tall… such beauty in your strength. But even the most resilient soul must rest.”

Rook smiled warmly, leaning closer as if to share a secret. “Let us lift this burden from your shoulders, together. You are not alone. I, too, am by your side, always watching, always ready to catch you should you stumble.”

Epel Felmier

Epel crouched down next to you, his face tight with concern. He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, not used to comforting others but determined nonetheless. “You shouldn’t have had to go through all this,” he muttered, his country drawl creeping into his voice. “Crowley’s a real piece of work, throwin’ all that on ya.”

He reached out, offering a hand in his own shy way. “You’ve been tougher than most, and I admire that. But that don’t mean you gotta keep it all bottled up. It’s okay to feel this way. We’re all here for ya, and I’m not lettin’ anyone mess with you anymore.”

Epel’s expression softened, his voice gentler now. “You’ve got us, so don’t think you’re alone in this. We’ll face it all together.”

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim immediately rushed to your side, concern written all over his face. “Oh no! You’ve been carrying all this by yourself? Why didn’t you tell me?” he exclaimed, kneeling down and grabbing your hands with both of his, his usual exuberance tempered by a rare sincerity.

He gave you a bright, reassuring smile. “You’ve been so strong for everyone else, but it’s okay to take a break. You don’t have to do everything alone—you’ve got us! And I promise, from now on, we’re all going to make sure you’re okay too.”

Kalim’s warm eyes sparkled with optimism. “Let’s go celebrate once you feel better! Something fun and happy—just to take your mind off everything. I’ll plan the best party ever, and you can just relax, okay?”

Jamil Viper

Jamil crouched down beside you, his dark eyes watching you carefully, as if assessing your every emotion. He sighed softly, his voice low and calm. “You’ve been under more pressure than anyone should have to deal with, and none of it was your fault.”

He rested a hand on your shoulder, his touch firm and grounding. “You shouldn’t have had to bear all this alone, but you don’t have to anymore. I understand what it’s like to carry more than you should.”

Jamil’s eyes softened, though his expression remained calm and composed. “From now on, you can rely on us. I won’t let things spiral out of control again, and I won’t let Crowley push you to your limits anymore. You deserve to take a step back and breathe.”

Idia Shroud

Idia stood awkwardly at a distance at first, his usual nervous fidgeting even more pronounced as he saw you breaking down. He hesitated before kneeling beside you, keeping his hands to himself. “I, uh… I get it,” he muttered, voice quieter than usual. “Feeling like the world’s too much to handle? Yeah, I’ve been there.”

He shifted uncomfortably but spoke with genuine understanding. “You’ve been through way more than anyone should. And, uh, it’s okay to not be okay. You don’t have to act like everything’s fine all the time.”

Idia’s blue flames flickered a bit brighter as he added, “If you need to… y’know, not deal with everything, I’ve got games and stuff to help you chill out. No judgment. Just… take it easy, okay?”

Ortho Shroud

Ortho hovered closer, his usual upbeat tone shifting to something far more gentle. “You’ve done so much, and I know it’s been really hard on you,” he said softly, his mechanical voice somehow conveying warmth.

He floated down beside you, his small hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “But you’re not alone anymore! You’ve got big brother and me, and we’ll help you through everything. You don’t have to carry all this by yourself.”

Ortho gave you a bright smile, his eyes glowing softly. “Let me help you feel better! We can work together, and you can lean on us whenever you need to.”

Malleus Draconia

Malleus approached you slowly, his imposing presence softened by the genuine concern in his eyes. He knelt gracefully beside you, his voice low and soothing. “You have been through much, more than anyone should bear. It is no wonder you feel as though the weight is too much.”

He extended a hand, his fingers brushing gently against your arm. “You are not alone in this world. I understand what it is to feel isolated, but you have friends, and you have me.”

Malleus’s gaze softened further, his voice almost a whisper. “I am here for you, as are the others. Rest now, and let us share in your burden. No harm shall come to you as long as I stand by your side.”

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia floated down beside you with a lightness that contrasted the gravity of the situation. His usual playful demeanor faded, replaced by quiet empathy. “Ah, little one,” he murmured, his voice soft and filled with affection. “You’ve been carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

He rested a hand gently on your head, giving it a comforting pat. “You’ve done well, more than anyone could have asked of you. But now, it’s time to let go of some of that burden. There’s no shame in needing help.”

Lilia smiled gently, his eyes twinkling with warmth. “You’re not alone, not anymore. We’ll protect you. You can lean on us when you need to.”

Silver

Silver knelt beside you, his calm eyes filled with quiet understanding. “You’ve been strong for a long time,” he said softly, his voice low and soothing. “But you don’t have to be strong all the time.”

He placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his touch steady and grounding. “It’s okay to let yourself feel overwhelmed. It doesn’t mean you’re weak—it means you’ve been through too much.”

Silver’s eyes softened as he spoke. “You have friends here, people who care about you. You can rely on us. I’ll be here, watching over you, so you can rest.”

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek approached you with his usual fervor but hesitated when he saw your tears. His sharp voice softened, though it still carried his typical intensity. “Human! You have been through much, but you must remember—you are not alone in this!”

He stood tall beside you, his green eyes blazing with determination. “You have shown strength, but it is not weak to ask for help! Lord Malleus would never allow you to suffer alone, and neither will I!”

Sebek crossed his arms, standing like a guardian at your side. “You are under the protection of Lord Malleus, and by extension, my protection! No harm will come to you now.”

Crowley

Crowley fluttered over, his usual flamboyant demeanor subdued as he saw your distress. “Ah, my dear prefect,” he began, wringing his hands nervously. “It seems that perhaps I’ve… placed more on your shoulders than I should have.”

He knelt beside you, his expression uncharacteristically somber. “You’ve done so much for this school, more than anyone could have asked of you. And for that, I owe you a great debt.”

Crowley’s voice softened, uncharacteristically sincere. “But now, it’s time for me to take some responsibility. You’ve more than earned your rest. From now on, I’ll make sure you have the support you need.”

Divus Crewel

Crewel knelt beside you, his sharp eyes softened with concern. “You’ve been through hell, pup,” he said, his voice low but firm. “And it’s no surprise that you’re feeling the strain.”

He reached out and adjusted your collar with practiced precision, as if he could fix your emotional state as easily as he could fix your appearance. “You’ve shown remarkable strength, but even the strongest need a break."

Crewel’s voice took on a more gentle tone as he gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You’re not expected to bear the weight of the world on your own, pup. You’ve more than proven yourself, but now it’s time for you to let others shoulder some of that burden. I won’t allow anyone to exploit your loyalty or determination again.”

He straightened up, his steely demeanor still present but tempered with warmth. “You’ve got me in your corner now. If anyone dares push you to the brink again, they’ll have to deal with me. Understood?”

Mozus Trein

Trein approached slowly, his usual stern expression softened with concern as he adjusted his glasses. “You’ve been under undue stress, haven’t you?” he observed in his deep, calming voice. “No one should be forced to handle such pressure alone.”

He knelt beside you, his demeanor fatherly as he rested a hand on your arm. “This world has not been kind to you, I see that now. But you’ve handled it all with remarkable resilience. However, even the strongest minds and hearts need time to recover.”

Trein sighed deeply, his tone softening further. “I will ensure that you are given that time, without further demands placed on you. You’ve done more than enough.”

Ashton Vargas

Vargas came over with his usual boisterous energy, but seeing you in distress made him pause. His expression softened, and he knelt down beside you. “Hey, hey! What’s all this about, huh?” he said, his voice a bit gentler than usual. “You’ve been holding up the team for too long, I see. That’s a heavy weight, and it’s no wonder you’re feeling tired.”

He placed a strong, reassuring hand on your back. “You’re tougher than you think, but even the toughest need a break sometimes. You’ve done amazing—really! But now, it’s time to rest up and let others carry the load for a bit.”

Vargas smiled warmly, his usual energy tempered with sincerity. “You’ve earned it, champ. We’re not leaving you behind. We’ll get through this together.”

Sam

Sam quietly appeared beside you, his usual playful smile replaced by something softer, more caring. “Well now, looks like you’ve been carryin’ quite the burden, huh?” he said in his deep, smooth voice.

He crouched down next to you, his hand resting on your shoulder with a firm but gentle grip. “You’ve been strong for everyone else, but you can let that go for a bit. No shame in feelin’ overwhelmed.”

Sam’s eyes twinkled kindly, and he gave you a warm smile. “Remember, you’ve got friends, and we’re all here for you. Anytime you need a little pick-me-up, you know where to find me. No more carryin’ this all by yourself, alright?”

Grim

Grim strutted over, his ears twitching as he noticed the tears on your face. “Oi, what’s this?” he huffed, trying to sound nonchalant but clearly concerned. “You’re not supposed to be cryin’. You’re supposed to be tough, like me!”

He hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to handle the situation, before awkwardly patting your arm with his paw. “Uh... stop bein’ all sad, okay? You’ve been through a lot, but you’re still here, right? And that’s ‘cause you’ve got me, the Great Grim! I mean, you’re my henchhuman, so obviously you’re tough enough to handle anything!”

He puffed out his chest, trying to inject some of his usual bravado into the situation. “I’ll take care of things next time! No need to worry. Just... stop cryin’, alright? It’s weird. I’m supposed to be the one gettin’ pampered, not the other way around!”

Despite his tough words, Grim stayed by your side, his tail flicking nervously. “But, y’know, I guess... if you need to cry, that’s fine too. Just don’t tell anyone I said that.”

Masterlist

[kquil]

REMUS LUPIN | 19:53 — BARISTA BOYFRIEND

SUM. : you suddenly gain a boyfriend after a beautiful but annoying creep flirts with you

TAGS : barista remus ; cafe regular reader ; modern au ; muggle au ; fluff ; very fluffy ; everyone loves hot chocolate ; remus makes great hot chocolate ; protective remus ; secret pining ; creepy but beautiful stranger

LENGTH : 1.4k

NAVI. | MORE REMUS

You’re a regular at a coffee shop that serves a variety of blends, so much so that the air almost always smells of ground coffee and is only slightly entwined with the sweetness of baked goods. However, you weren’t a regular for their coffee or treats, you were a regular for their hot chocolate, made by a specific barista.  

“Hello again,” Remus (the barista in question) greets fondly as you come up to the counter, ready to order. He’s a tall brunette with a gorgeous smile and a talent for making hot chocolate. “The usual?” 

“Only if it’s you’re making it, Remus,” you chirp, smiling up at him as he chuckles—it still astounds you that you’ve become such a regular customer that you’re comfortable calling him by name. You note the incredible length of his lashes as they brush against his cheekbone and admire the faded scar marking his jawline. He’s the perfect model-looking-barista archetype that pulls in customers with a simple glance, and you’re embarrassed to admit that you were one such weak-willed individual: shyly stepping into the cafe for the first time without anything in mind to order until he suggested the hot chocolate, and you were hooked ever since. 

“Of course, I wouldn’t let anyone else touch your hot chocolate, love.” It makes your heart flutter every time he calls you that fond endearment, and you’re sure he knows it too—he probably calls all the lady customers by that name. But no matter what you tell yourself, you weren’t just there for the hot chocolate… “Would you be interested in a sweet treat to go with it this time? Everything’s baked fresh,” he gestures to the array of baked goodies on display, and you try not to drool at the selection openly. Remus has made this offer so often that you don’t think it’s simply him trying to generate more profit for the cafe anymore. But because of his consistent assertions and soft eyes, you finally cave, worn down like the cliff edge by the ocean, sending you crumbling down and into its depths. “I’ll make sure to give you a discount.”

“Alright, alright.” Side-stepping, you lean over to inspect the display case and the delicious array of treats it holds. “It’s kind of a hard choice…”

Remus laughs and nods in understanding, “I don’t blame you. Please take your time, it’s a slow hour.” 

Despite his reassurance, you continue to struggle and soon get anxious over not having made your pick yet. “Do you have any recommendations?”

“Of course!” Stepping away from the coffee machines he preoccupied himself with, Remus gestures to his personal picks, “If you want to satiate that sweet tooth more, you can’t go wrong with our chocolate chip cookies. But if you want something a little less sweet to go with your hot chocolate, our all-butter shortbreads are also a good choice.” With his help, you’re finally able to choose and watch as he selects the biggest, most delectable-looking one in the display—you try not to smile too hard at that; he’s the sweetest. “I’ll have your hot chocolate ready for you soon, love.” Not only did he give you a discount, but he didn’t charge you a single penny.

“Thank you so much, Remus.” He sends you away with a charming smile and your plated treat. When you eventually choose a window seat, you decide to wait until your hot chocolate is done to indulge in your snack pairing and take to observing the city scene outside. 

With a sigh of gratitude, you quietly thank the cafe walls for providing you with such peace. This has become such a safe corner for you in the city that you couldn’t believe you survived so long without it. And it was all thanks to glimpsing Remus’ gorgeous face and sweet nature by chance. The memory made you want to giggle, but you’re soon pulled from such thoughts by the obnoxious clearing of a throat beside you. 

When you turn, you find the source to be the most annoying man you’ve ever met, already introducing himself and quickly beginning to ramble obnoxiously. (What did he say his name was?) He had an ethereal type of beauty with his pale skin, grey eyes and midnight-black hair, dressed in leather like a biker from the 80s, but with a voice that itched your brain in the worst way possible. Was he trying to flirt with you? 

“I’m sorry?” you ask, just to be polite and also to test if this guy was being serious or not about his brazen behaviour. 

“Oh, don’t be sorry, dollface~” he leans in uncomfortably close, “I know I’m a looker, so there’s no need to be shy, you can look at me all you want—all day long if you must.” The stranger flutters his lashes at you, and you swear that you have the most confused and aghast expression on your face. You’re staring at him like he’s grown two extra heads, but he doesn’t stop and continues with his ‘flirting’. “Anyway~ I’m a looker and you’re a looker, why don’t we be lookers together and go for a date?” he wiggles his brows with a smug smirk on his lips, and you try your best not to gag, giving him enough breathing room to continue without an answer. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

Before you could respond and politely try to shoo him away, a dark, coarse and almost familiar voice answers for you from where it looms over your figure, “Yes, she does,” Blinking in surprise, your voice gets stuck in your throat with your breath when you look over your shoulder and up to find Remus with a menacing look on his face, one that you couldn’t believe he was capable of ever expressing.

“You’re her—”

“I’m her boyfriend.” Remus reaffirms matter-of-factly, and you try to pretend that your face doesn’t feel like it’s suddenly been set on fire as he turns his icy glare from the stranger and onto you. The instant his eyes met yours, Remus was back to his kind and gentle self, with an additional warmth in his gaze as he placed your hot chocolate on the table in front of you. “Here’s your hot chocolate, my love.” He gently presses his nose against your hair and allows his lips to lightly brush against your temple. “I’m sorry it took so long…I had to redo it.” You don’t know what happened—still spiralling from the dreamy scene happening around you—but the creepy man dressed in leather quickly scampers off. 

Breathing a heavy sigh, Remus sinks into the unoccupied chair next to you. “Th-thanks for that Rem–” to your embarrassment, despite the justified reaction, you let out a small yelp when the barista in question takes the leg of your seat and pulls you closer, his thighs spread apart so you could be as close as possible. When your head was a few inches from his chin, he dropped his forehead onto your shoulder. 

“I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable…” 

You wait until your heart rate slows to a normal pace before answering, smiling softly at his considerateness, “I wasn’t uncomfortable at all, not by you at least. Thank you for saving me, Remus.” It was quite adorable how soft he had become, nuzzling into your shoulder to apologise. You couldn’t help but think that he was like an affectionate dog trying to act sweet to express its regret, which you were very weakhearted for. Unable to help yourself, your hand comes up to gently comb through his hair—you can’t believe how soft it is! 

“No. I didn’t save you.”

“What do you mean?”

“...You have to deal with me now…” 

OUTTAKE :

“Remus was so mean, Jamie! And after the sacrifice I took for him!” Sirius whines as James rolls his eyes and shares an amused look with Lily, who sips at her tea while his arm slings over the back of the sofa behind her. “I was only trying to get him together with his lady! It was a success, but I can’t believe that this is the ‘thanks’ I get! Me! The perfect wingman, but glared at, like I’m some sort of villain!” 

“Perfect wingman, more like perfect creep—” 

“Not you too, James!” Sirius shouts, the agony rich in his voice and falls back into his loveseat dramatically, as if struck by an arrow, “I can’t believe you would mock my genius acting like that!” 

“Get over yourself, Sirius.” Lily comments, hiding her smirk behind the lip of her teacup. “What matters is that Remus is finally with his favourite regular.”

“Yeah~ Get over yourself, Sirius~” James teases mockingly, narrowing his eyes at his friend, still smirking in amusement before he drops the jeering facade. “Moony’s with his lady now, ain’t he? He’ll stop giving you the silent treatment soon enough”

Sirius huffs, arms crossed, “I never get any praise around here! A simple ‘thank you’ would suffice!” 

NAVI. | MORE REMUS

A/N : god...i missed writing for sirius XD and remus and james too of course! it's been a while since I've written a timestamp but i hope you darlings enjoyed the read hehe~

[sunsburns]

been thinking about dating college!art and you get into a really big fight until he decides to show up at your dorm *cough* make up sex *cough*

i had wayy too much fun with this… SMUT 17+

“i’m still mad at you, you know.” there’s no real bite to your bark, not when your voice is breathless, your cheeks are flushed, and your hands keep running through his hair.

“yeah, i know,” art drawls, his voice softening. he says it because a part of him knows it’s true, but he can’t help the faint smile that grows on his face. he knows you won’t stay mad for long, but he still feels the weight of his guilt pressing down on him. he’d do anything to make it up to you. with every press of his lips, he mutters a quiet “i’m sorry,” against your skin, then grazes his teeth along your ankle before making his way up your leg.

he’d thought of a million different things to say to you, how he would stand his ground or cave to your defences. but all of it was thrown out the window the moment you opened that door. you were wearing his shirt—or maybe it was patrick’s, maybe even tashi’s—and a pair of panties. the sight of your messy desk, covered in textbooks, notebooks, and your open laptop, reminded him you were doing homework, or trying to. but the ache in his chest at the thought of you hating him was overwhelming.

it was killing him knowing you were upset, and he was the cause of it. that’s why art had taken a trip to the nearest farmer’s market the moment he was off the court, and he bought you flowers and your favourite snack and knocked on your door.

now the flowers are forgotten by your desk, the snacks on the floor, and you’re still trying to keep up the act that you’re mad at art. but the truth is, you can’t even remember what you were mad at him about in the first place. 

the way he looks at you, with such earnest remorse and tenderness, makes it hard to hold onto your anger. you sigh, running your fingers through his hair again, feeling the tension between you start to melt away.

“i hate how you do this to me,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. art’s eyes meet yours, and he pauses, his lips hovering just above your knee.

“i know,” he says again, his voice filled with a mix of regret and hope. his hands roam up the sides of your thighs, fingers brushing your ass before they turn into the curve between your legs. “but i’m here now,” he presses a kiss against your hot skin again, making his way up, up, and up. “and i want to make it right.”

as he continues his gentle kisses, moving slowly and tenderly, you feel your defences crumbling. the anger that once felt so strong is now just a distant memory. art’s presence, his touch, his voice, his words, all of him- it’s all you can think about.

he looks up at you, sitting on the bed while he kneels before you. you’re watching him, waiting for his next move when he is still between your legs. 

when you run your nails against his scalp, art doesn't bother hiding the quiet whimper that slips past his lips before he closes his eyes and leans his head towards your arm. 

he lets you hold him while his hands trail up your sides, reaching and groping anything he can before his fingers tug at your panties, and he carefully slips them off you.

when he kisses your clit, you rest your leg over his shoulder, heel pressing against the muscles of his back. his arms wrap around your thighs, pulling you closer while he starts to eat you out. 

art starts slow, calculated strokes of his tongue against you, running it in tight circles against your clit, dipping it lower when he gets a little more confident. when you arch your back and whine, pushing his head closer so you can ride his face, he starts to pick up the pace, hoping to hear that sound come out of you again.

when his tongue pokes at your cunt, it draws a loud moan out of you, blood rushing to your ears. “fuck, art,” you whimper, grinding against his face. “feels so good.”

art seems to like it more than you, eyes closed in bliss, humming and moaning against your cunt, each vibration from his mouth making you spiral. his hips buck up into nothing, but he doesn't seem to mind as his hands hold onto you tighter, as if he is afraid to lose you. 

“you’re so pretty like this,” you barely manage to get out, your heart thumping against your chest.

art moans again at your praise and finally opens his eyes to meet your burning gaze. his low, nearly pathetic whine with his eyes on you was what it took to push you over the edge.

art lets you ride it out, he lets you grind against his face, he lets you use him again and again and again until you’ve had your fill and there is nothing left of him.

and when you cup his cheeks and bring his face to yours and kiss him like you have a one-track mind, he has an inkling feeling that you're not mad at him anymore. you press your forehead against his, hand cupping the back of his neck, and he lets out a sigh and you breathe it in. 

“i’m sorry,” he whispers, one more time, to make sure you know he means it.

you smile, offering him half a shrug and another kiss. “just let me return the favour.”

[writingunderneathawillow]

dozed off (bucky barnes x reader)

content warnings: none, just good old fluff, unless you count sweetest bucky as a warning (i do), gender neutral reader word count: 815

You quietly fumbled with the door of your and Bucky’s joint apartment, your purse and phone clutched in one hand and keys in your other.

When you slowly pushed the door open, excitement flooded your veins as you took in the soft glow of the lamp on the side table next to the couch.

Bucky wasn’t supposed to be home yet; he had texted you earlier that day that he was not going to be back before tomorrow morning. But there he was, his large frame spread out on the couch, chest rising and falling in steady motions.

His eyes were closed, lashes just brushing up against his cheeks as gentle sighs tumbled from his lips.

He looked heartbreakingly endearing, one arm slung out, hovering above the floor as if sleep had taken him while he was reaching for something. You took a few steps towards him, moving as silently as possible in order not to wake him.

Usually, his super soldier hearing would have picked up even the faintest sounds, but exhaustion had knocked him out completely, pulling him into his dreamlands without disturbances.

As you made your way towards him, you couldn’t help but break into a bright smile. Adoration that bordered on worship filled your system as you kneeled down in front of his sleeping figure and gazed at his face. Your eyes traced the contours of his jaw, the point of his nose and wandered to his soft pink lips, which parted slightly as he breathed in. Instinctively, you reached out but stopped yourself just before your fingers could brush up against his cheek. Reluctantly, you pulled back and extended your hand towards the blanket on the back of the couch, draping it over him to keep the cold away.

You wanted to join him on the sofa, burying yourself against his body that you knew like the back of your hand, every dip, every muscle and every scar. Sleeping alone in your shared bed was out of the question, not when he was so close. But the idea of interrupting his slumber, as much as you wanted to see the beautiful blue of his eyes – it would feel like a crime to rip him away from his rest.

So instead, you cozied up on the floor, right beneath him, pulling a blanket and pillow from the armchair to ease yourself onto the ground. The sound of his soft breath was stronger than any sleeping pills, seemingly cradling you and filling your ears like the sweetest melody. Your eyelids grew heavier with every second of his breathing and soon, your own dreams welcomed you.

When Bucky woke up the next morning, he groaned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he looked around. The couch had been unkind to his neck, which twinged a little with every movement. He was disoriented, surprised to say the least, to have woken up on the couch.

When he had sat down the evening prior, it had been his intention to stay awake, to wait up until your return home. But not ten minutes after his head had hit the pillow, fatigue had caused him to drift off hours before you had arrived.

As his gaze wandered, it stopped on you.

Crumbled next to the couch, blanket pulled up to your chin and fast asleep, you laid there, a content smile plastered across your face despite the fact that your position couldn’t possibly be comfortable.

His heart fluttered as he reached out to you, warmth spreading through his chest.

“Sweetheart?” He asked softly, dragging his knuckles across your cheek.

You stirred lightly, a tiny yawn breaching your lips as you looked at him through heavy lidded eyes.

“Hi,” you greeted him, smiling brighter as your eyes adjusted and you finally got to see his half amused, half concerned face.

“What are you doing on the floor?” His voice was gentle, love seemingly intertwining with his vocal cords.

You chuckled and sat up, scooting closer to him.

With your arms propped up on the cushions of the couch, you rested your chin on your hands and beamed up at him.

“I didn’t wanna sleep without you,” you explained, and his heart might have burst.

“You coulda woken me,” he said and extended his hand to brush a few loose strands of hair from your forehead.

“You looked so peaceful, I couldn’t have possibly done that.”

A sheepish grin snuck onto his face as he pulled you up to him, letting your body melt against his as he wrapped his arms around you.

“What could I have ever done to deserve you?” His question was a whisper, a soft inquiry that tugged at your heartstrings.

You kissed his cheek tenderly, feeling the scruff of his beard beneath your lips.

“I wanted to wait up for you,” he continued and looked at you, “But I must’ve dozed off.”

thank you for reading :) gentle reminder that likes are more than appreciated but comments and reblogs make the dream work

[lvnleah]

falling for you | leah williamson

not my most favourite fic i’ve wrote but it’ll do :)

Leah prided herself on being confident on the pitch, in the dressing room, and in front of a crowd. But when it came to you? That confidence completely disappeared.

You had been at Arsenal for a few months now, seamlessly fitting into the squad, your easy-going nature making you popular among the team. You weren’t the loudest but you weren’t the quietest either and people seemed to gravitate towards your calm personality. Leah was no exception.

She was absolutely, completely, and embarrassingly smitten with you.

Leah started falling for you in the quiet moments, the ones that felt small but meant everything to her.

Like the way you carried an extra water bottle during training, always handing it to her first before taking a sip yourself. The way you’d nudge her arm during team meetings when she looked a little too serious, offering her a soft smile that melted her heart. The way you’d instinctively reach out to fix the strap of her shin pad or tug her jumper down when it rode up like it was second nature to you.

She told herself it was normal. That you did this for everyone.

Then she noticed you didn’t.

She caught the way the team exchanged knowing looks whenever you pulled her into a side hug after a tough training session or when you casually handed her a protein bar before she could even ask for one. The way they whispered when you absentmindedly tied the drawstring on her hoodie because she was too distracted to do it herself.

“You’re a lost cause, Le,” Katie had said one evening in the locker room, watching as you ruffled Leah’s hair after a scrimmage.

“She has no idea, does she?” Beth grinned, standing next to Steph as they both watched you. 

“Nope,” Steph sighed, “None at all.”

Of course, you didn’t. You were completely oblivious. You thought Leah was like this with everyone. It wasn’t until one afternoon at the training ground that you realized something was… off.

You had been stretching after a session, sitting beside Leah as she talked to Lotte and Kyra. Instinctively, you reached out and massaged the back of her calf where you knew she often got cramps, kneading the muscle with practised ease. Leah, mid-sentence, completely forgot her words. 

She made a strangled sound, somewhere between a cough and a gasp, and her whole face turned red. Lotte raised an eyebrow. Kyra smirked.

“What?” you asked, blinking at them after you were done and Leah had gotten up and walked away. 

Lotte leaned in. “Mate, do you really not see it?”

“See what?”

Kyra laughed, shaking her head. “Oh, this is fun. You don’t realise Leah’s totally head over heels for you, do you?”

After that, you started to notice things.

Leah was awkward around you, her face turning red whenever you complimented her. The way she always gravitated toward you in team huddles. How she blushed whenever you stood too close. How her eyes lingered on you a little too long when she thought you weren’t looking.

You had assumed it was just Leah being Leah. But now? Now you realise she had a crush on you.

And that? That was something you could have fun with.

You started subtly teasing her, just to see how far you could push her.

You’d lean in a little too close when she was tying her laces, pretending to inspect them. “Need help, love?” you murmured one day. Leah, wide-eyed and flustered, shook her head so quickly she nearly toppled over.

During team dinners, you’d casually sling an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in. “Leah’s my favourite,” you’d say, just to see the way her cheeks burned.

You started calling her love more often, watching as her resolve crumbled bit by bit.

And when she finally cracked? It was after a match when you walked up behind her and adjusted her jersey for her, fingers lingering just a second too long. “There you go, love,” you said with a grin.

Leah turned to you, exasperated, her face flushed. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

You feigned innocence. “Doing what?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I know you know.”

You grinned. “Took you long enough.”

She groaned, running a hand through her hair. “God, I hate you.”

You chuckled, nudging her playfully. “No, you don’t.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “No. I really don’t.”

Leah finally asked you out on a crisp autumn evening. You were both leaving the training ground, the sun setting behind the horizon.

“Hey,” she called out, jogging up beside you.

You turned, smiling. “What’s up?”

She hesitated, biting her lip. “You wanna get dinner? Just us?”

You tilted your head. “Like a date?”

Leah nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah...like a date.”

You grinned. “Took you long enough.”

Her relief was palpable. “So, that’s a yes?”

“That’s a definite yes, love.”

Leah let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her shoulders relaxing as a grin broke out across her face. “Good, cool,” she said, “Tomorrow night?”

You hummed, pretending to think. “Hmm, I’ll have to check my very busy schedule of watching Netflix in my pyjamas… but yeah, I think I can squeeze you in.”

Leah rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t hide the way the corners of her lips twitched. “You’re a tease.”

You smirked. “And yet, you’re the one asking me out.”

The next day dragged on.

Leah tried to focus during training, but her mind kept drifting to you, to your teasing smirks, to the fact that in just a few hours, she’d be taking you on a date. A real, proper date.

“You good, mate?” Lotte asked as they walked off the pitch together. “You’ve been a bit off today.”

Leah nodded, “Yeah, just… I’ve got plans tonight.”

Lotte’s eyebrows shot up. “Plans?” A slow grin spread across her face. “With her?”

Leah groaned. “Please don’t start.”

Lotte slung an arm around her shoulders, shaking her slightly. “Oh, I’m definitely starting. The great Leah Williamson, finally making a move. I never thought I’d see the day.”

Leah rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at her lips.

After training, she rushed home, spending far too long staring at her wardrobe before finally settling on a simple outfit, casual but nice. She checked her phone for the tenth time, reading over your last message.

You: Don’t be nervous, love. Just dinner. With me. Your favourite person.

Leah shook her head, biting her lip to keep from smiling too much. She grabbed her keys and headed out before she could overthink it any more.

When she arrived at the restaurant, you were already there, sitting at a corner table with a relaxed smile. The sight of you, so effortlessly beautiful, made her stomach flip.

“You clean up nice,” you teased as she sat down.

Leah rolled her eyes but felt her face heat up. “You’re the worst.”

You grinned. “And yet, you’re still here.”

She sighed dramatically. “I know. Tragic, really.”

The conversation flowed easily, just like it always did. You talked about everything and nothing, laughing between bites of food, the tension from the past few weeks melting away. Leah was so caught up in you that she barely noticed time passing.

Then, as the night wound down, you leaned in slightly, your voice softer. “You know, I wasn’t completely teasing when I said you were my favourite.”

Leah’s breath caught.

Your fingers brushed against hers on the table, deliberate this time, lingering. Leah stared at them for a second before finally, finally turning your hand over and lacing her fingers with yours.

Your smile widened. “Took you long enough.”

Leah laughed, shaking her head. “You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?”

“Not a chance, love.”

Thing because official two weeks later, though if you asked Leah, she would’ve told you it should have happened much sooner.

The two of you had gone on a handful of dates from dinners, to late-night walks, to movie nights where neither of you paid attention to the film because you were too busy teasing each other. But despite the easy flow of whatever this was, Leah still hadn’t officially asked you to be her girlfriend.

And it was driving the team insane.

“You’re telling me,” Kyra groaned one afternoon in the locker room, “that you’ve been on, what, five dates? And you’re still not together?”

Leah scowled, tying her laces. “I don’t see you in a relationship, Kyra.”

“That’s ‘cause I know when to pull the trigger,” Kyra shot back. “Jesus, just ask her.”

Beth, standing nearby, smirked. “You could just wait. I give it a week before she does it herself.”

Leah wanted to argue, but deep down, she knew they were right. So, that night, she decided she wasn’t waiting any longer.

You were at her place, curled up next to her on the couch, flicking through Netflix options without really choosing anything. It was comfortable and natural. Leah’s arm draped over your shoulders, your fingers tracing absentminded patterns on her knee.

She was content, but there was still a weight on her chest, something unfinished.

So, before she could overthink it, she cleared her throat. “Hey.”

You turned your head slightly, raising an eyebrow. “Hey.”

Leah shifted, suddenly nervous. “So, um… you know how we’ve been, uh, going out? A lot?”

Your lips quirked. “I do recall that, yeah.”

She exhaled. “Right. And we kinda already act like we’re together, but we haven’t actually like said it?”

You bit back a smile. “Are you asking me something, Williamson?”

Leah groaned, letting her head fall back against the couch. “Why are you like this?”

You laughed, reaching up to tug her hoodie over her head slightly. “Because you’re cute when you’re flustered.”

She grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand down but not letting go. “I’m serious,” she said, softer now.

The teasing in your expression faded, replaced with something warm. “I know,” you murmured.

Leah swallowed. “I like you. A lot. And I want to call you my girlfriend, if that’s something you’d be into.”

You didn’t hesitate. “I’d be very into that.”

Relief flooded through Leah so fast she barely had time to react before you were pulling her in, your lips brushing against hers in a kiss that was so right she couldn’t believe she hadn’t done it sooner.

When you finally pulled back, you grinned. “Took you long enough.”

Leah groaned, burying her face in your shoulder. “I hate you.”

You chuckled, running a hand through her hair. “No, you don’t.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “No. I really don’t.”

Dating Leah was easy. It felt natural, like something that had been meant to happen all along.

She adored you, though she tried (and failed) to play it cool. You caught her staring at you constantly, whether you were tying your boots, laughing with the team, or simply existing in her space.

Cuddles became a daily occurrence. Leah would pull you onto the couch after training, tucking herself against your side, her arms wrapped around your waist.

Kisses were soft and slow, stolen between training sessions, before matches, and during cosy evenings at your flat. Leah’s favourite was when you kissed her forehead, her arms wrapped around your waist as she melted into you.

You teased her often, but she gave it back just as much.

One night, as you lay in bed, she rolled onto her side, watching you. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

You smirked, pulling her closer. “And yet, you love me.”

She huffed. “Unfortunately.”

You pressed a kiss to her temple. “Lucky me, then.”

Leah smiled, tightening her hold on you. “Yeah. Lucky you.”

[terrestrialnoob]

Not Martha Wayne stood in the foyer of Wayne Manor. She looked exactly like the painting in the den, same dress, hair, and makeup. Bruce had spent hours staring at it. She turned to look at him when he entered.

"Sorry for entering your home without permission." She said with a small bow of her head.

"Why do you look like that?" Bruce said, getting further into the room, but still giving her space.

"In all honesty, I was hoping it would make you more likely to say yes." She gave him a hopeful smile.

Bruce lifted en eyebrow, "I don't appreciate it."

"Then I apologize." She took a step towards him, dress flowing longer, hair growing dark, flesh and bone shifting under greying skin. Standing before him now was an easily ten foot tall skeleton-thin being. Long hair draping out of a wide hat with hanging veil shading a thin face with glowing red eyes. Her dress had turned Victorian in style, but was open from her neck to her waist. Her ribs were on display, but more importantly, a glowing, pulsing orb of red energy in her center. "Is this preferred?"

"Yes." Bruce didn't feel any more comfortable but it was preferred. "Who are you and why are you here?"

"You may call me... Amity, and I have a favor to ask you." She flared her dress and when it fell back, there were kids on the ground. One looked to be around five, carefully holding a baby to his torso, and one that looked around three, standing protectively in front of the other two. "I need a babysitter."

Bruce stared at the children. "A... babysitter? And you chose me?"

"You have a glowing track record." Amity said, a gentile smile spread across her face and Bruce can see the photo she'd been looking at when he'd gotten there. It was of most of his children, he'd taken it himself.

He sighed and looked at the children next to her, they hadn't moved, the older two still positioned to protect the baby. "Who's kids are they?"

"Mine."

"They look human." Bruce stated but it was a question.

"They have human - no, they had human parents, but they were born in me."

Bruce looked at them, the older two glaring at him, the third too small to know what's happening. "How long would they be in my care?"

"Not too long."

"What does that mean to a being like you?"

Amity actually looked surprised by the question. "I don't know. I supposed even hundred years is not too long for a being like me. But that is not what I intended from the statement. You will not have them for more than - a year. Maybe a bit longer, if things become... difficult."

Bruce closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Is there anything specific I should know? Any dietary needs or special powers I should be made aware of?"

"They will be fully human and need only what a human needs until they come in contact with the Realms -my origin place- again."

Bruce nodded. "Okay. I will take care of them until you return for them."

She laughed a strange echoing laugh that sent a shiver through the entire house. "I know we can count on you, Martha said as much."

"Martha?"

"She is loyal to my sister, both recommended you. And we thank you, Dark Knight." Amity began to fade at her edges, her dress turned to rotting leaves, her bones crumbling to dust, until there was nothing but the three children left behind.

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

Cross My Heart, I Didn't Love You

Bangchan x Gn!Reader

<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3

The words left his mouth too easily. Too quickly. Too carelessly.

"I don’t feel that way about you."

There wasn’t a hesitation, not even a pause to consider the weight of what he was saying.

It was final.

A death sentence to the hope that had been blooming inside of you for years.

You knew you shouldn't have confessed. You knew, but knowing didn't stop the ache spreading through your chest like a wildfire you couldn't put out.

It took you a moment before you could swallow. Hard. "Oh."

Just that. Oh.

What else could you say?

You thought you'd cry, thought the ground would crack open and swallow you whole, but all you could do was stare at him.

At the face you had loved for so long.

The eyes that held galaxies but not you.

The lips that had spoken so softly to you, teasing you, laughing with you, making you believe- making you think - that maybe, just maybe, you had a chance.

Chan shifted on his feet, rubbing the back of his neck. "I-I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to-"

"You did," you cut in. Your voice was steady surprisingly, even though your world was crumbling. "You meant it. And that's okay. I just...I just needed to hear it."

Chan frowned, looking like he wanted to say something, but what was left to say?

What could he possibly offer you now?

Nothing much, if anything at all.

"We're okay?"

You nodded.

Chan couldn't think of anything so he blurted the first thing that came to his mind.

"Cross your heart?"

"And hope to die." You mumbled quietly, biting back the tears at the truth in those childish words.

You wanted to be swallowed whole. You felt humiliated.

But Chan couldn't do anything about that.

And you knew that.

So you did the only thing you could do.

You smiled. Forced. Hollow.

"It’s getting late. I should go."

He didn’t stop you. Didn’t reach for your hand or ask you to stay.

And that was how you knew.

There had never been anything to hold onto in the first place.

You didn’t cry until you were alone in your apartment, in the suffocating silence of a place that suddenly felt too big and too empty.

You had spent years orbiting around him, letting him be the gravity that pulled you in, and now- now there was nothing.

Just a vast, aching void where something warm used to be.

Your fingers trembled as you reached for your phone, for the thread of messages filled with inside jokes, late-night ramblings, voice notes of him humming random melodies he was working on. You stared at his contact name, thumb hovering over the chat before you pressed down.

You’re still my best friend, right?

You deleted it before you could send it.

Because you already knew the answer he was going to give.

And a part of you realized that the answer he would have given, would just mess up your equation.

Chan...didn’t think much of it at first.

The confession, the way you left-

It was awkward, sure, but he figured things would go back to normal.

You were strong. Resilient.

You had always been able to brush things off, so he convinced himself you’d bounce back and your friendship would be back to normal.

But then you didn’t.

The next day, you didn’t reply to his texts.

The next week, you were suddenly "too busy" to hang out.

The next month, you started pulling away, and Chan- idiot that he was- thought it was just temporary.

That you just needed space.

Then came the excuses. The half-hearted responses. The messages left on read.

And for the first time, he started to feel something close to regret.

It hit him during one of the late nights at the studio, the kind of night where exhaustion blurred the edges of his thoughts, making everything feel heavier.

He had just finished mixing a track when he caught himself opening his phone, out of habit, scrolling to your contact.

He paused. The last message was weeks ago.

Hope you're doing okay. We should hang out soon. Miss you.

Unread.

Chan sighed, rubbing his hands down his face. He didn’t understand it. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. You two were supposed to laugh it off, move past it.

You two were supposed to still be us.

But you weren’t.

And he was starting to realize maybe that was his fault.

Maybe if I had tried explaining instead of just leaving Y/N to handle my rejection on their own...

He let himself fall back into his chair, staring at the ceiling.

A sick feeling settled in his stomach, twisting, tightening, but he shoved it down. He wasn’t sure why this was bothering him so much. You were his best friend. You had always been there, always been his safe place. He didn’t need you to love him like that. Why would you want someone like him to love you like that?

And why did the thought of you not loving him at all suddenly make it hard to breathe?

You forced yourself to move on. Or at least, you tried to.

It wasn’t easy. Not when everything reminded you of him. The coffee shop where you two used to sit for hours, him hunched over his laptop while you doodled on napkins.

The convenience store where he’d grab extra snacks just because he knew you’d steal half of his. The stupid, little things you hadn’t realized were stitched so deeply into your life until they were gone.

Until he was gone.

But what choice did you have? Staying in his orbit was only going to break you further, so you cut yourself free. It was the hardest thing you had ever done.

But it was also the only way you could survive.

Months passed.

Chan told himself he was fine. That you were fine.

But then, one night, he saw you.

Not through a screen. Not in passing. But there, across the room at a mutual friend’s gathering, looking different and yet exactly the same. Except this time- this time you weren't looking for him.

You weren't making a beeline to his side like you used to.

Instead, you were laughing at something someone else had said, eyes bright, lips curved into a smile that he used to think belonged to him.

And suddenly, he wasn’t fine.

He wasn't fine at all.

Because he realized, too late, that he had been wrong.

He did feel that way about you.

He had just been too blind to see it.

And now? Now you were gone.

Chan sucked in a sharp breath, his fingers tightening around his drink as he watched you from across the room. He thought about going over, thought about what he could possibly say.

"Hey, remember when I said I didn’t love you? I think I lied."

He laughed bitterly to himself. Too late.

Too late for that.

He had told you he didn’t love you.

Cross his heart, he thought he didn’t.

But if that were true, then why did it feel like he was the one suffocating now?

<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3

@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha @iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric @panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee @shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin @whoa-jo @meanergreener @rikibun @ayyonoona @shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael @skzstan12345 @mariteez @allys-reads @jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @yongbokkiesworld @kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9 @minsungsthirdwheel @everlastingspring143 @joyofbebbanburg @leezanetheofficial @tr-mha-fan @bubbly-moon @night-storm7 @missmajdastark @axel-skz @rockstarkkami @emilyywhyy

<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3

[comatosebunny09]

nuisance | sylus

summary: sylus doesn't get drunk...does he? warning(s): mentions of alcohol, pet names, cunnilingus, somno, language, oocness, blue balls of the female kind music inspo: i wanna know - joe notes: @muvaginger i'm sorry.

Sleep won’t find you tonight.

So you’re not at all upset when you’re shaken out of bed by the ruckus in the hallway. And as you pad closer to the front door, you hear what reminds you of a hit dog hollering.

Or someone trying to sing.

The beginnings of a migraine throb in your temples. You throw your door open, and isn’t he just a sight for sore eyes?

There’s a familiar shock of white hair. Drooping, sunset eyes fixed on you, and he’s singing his heart out—or so he thinks.

“I want to know what turns you on,” Sylus croons, a hand on his chest and a finger pointed at you. “So I can be all that and mooore.”

You sigh at his impromptu dance routine. It’s cute. Really, it is. But he sounds like a metal pipe being dragged across the sidewalk. Regardless, you don’t discourage him. Just cross your arms with a quiet smile, leaning against your doorframe to take in the show.

His voice crescendos after the second ‘I’d like to know,’ and you wince, waving your hands frantically to get your boyfriend to keep it down. The last time he pulled a stunt like this, you received a discrepancy letter for the noise from the front office. One more incident, and you’re sure you’ll wake up to an eviction notice.

A sweat-drop beading on your temple, you grab Sylus’s arm and snatch him inside, all the while hissing for him to shut the hell up. He laughs like the inebriated, lovesick idiot he is, and you lock the door behind him.

“Hey, sugar,” Sylus slurs, propped up against your entrance. He tugs on your wrists, luring you in for a sloppy kiss just shy of your lips.

The door thumps when you shove him back against it. Wanna run your fingers through his tousled hair, stroke his reddened cheeks, and unfasten the last few buttons of his shirt. Instead, you raise a curious brow, hands on hips, foot tapping.

“Sugar?” Of all the pet names, you’ve never heard that one come out of his mouth. Either he’s spent some time down south, or someone’s replaced your Sylus with a doppelganger. “Oh, you’re drunk drunk.”

No, you didn’t stutter.

“Honey,” he drawls, all silk and satin. There he goes again, talking like your mama. He folds his arms over his chest, mirroring your haughtiness. “I don’t get drunk.”

On cue, his knees buckle, and the oaky scent of whisky on his breath fills your nostrils. He nearly crumbles to the ground, catching himself at the last moment. Your hands perch on his hips, helping steady him.

“Drunk. You’re drunk, Sy,” you chastise, your voice strained, and brows knit with the effort of helping his heavy ass stumble to your couch.

He falls unceremoniously onto the cushions, wearing a stupid, smug grin. You’re breathing hard and trying to quell your heart when he makes grabby hands at you. And, of course, you fall for them, snatched down to his level until his breath fans over your lashes. And you’re slowly wondering who, exactly, is drunk at this moment.

Sylus studies your hands propped on his quads for leverage before peering into your eyes, straight into your damn soul.

“Bet this drunken fool could still make you feel good.” His voice bleeds sex as he runs a languid knuckle down your neck towards the divot between your clavicles, driving his point home.

You shiver. Won’t deny how your stomach hiccups from the thought of it. From the prospect of his voice all muffled between your legs, and the lewd sounds of him eating you out staining the air.

You swallow down your fantasy, hauling yourself back to reality. Swat his hand away, fixing your nightgown.  

“Sylus, baby, need I remind you you’re drunk off your ass? I don’t get down like that.”

He leans back in an easygoing slouch. Gives you a look that borders predatory, blinking slowly with furled lashes like the cat who caught the canary. You feel the low gravel of his voice pooling between your legs, and you hate yourself for growing all hot like this.

“What,” he purrs, tone coy as he disrobes you with his eyes. “We’re two perfectly consenting adults, right? Nothing wrong with having a little fun.”

You heave a sigh. Reluctantly back away from him, ignoring how the frown on his lips makes your chest pinch. You tear through the thick haze of desire that inhabits the air to pinch your nose.

“We can be two perfectly consenting adults in the morning when you’ve slept this shit off, Sy.”

Tonight is one of those rare nights you’ve seen him visibly pout.

“Boring,” your boyfriend whines, hugging one of your decorative pillows to his chest, and collapsing onto his side amongst your couch cushions in the fetal position. You contemplate fighting him for not taking his shoes off.

Instead, you roll your eyes, fishing a throw blanket from your lift-top coffee table. Toss it over his curled-up body, and he kicks it down to his feet like a haughty child.

You bend down to kiss his forehead, to which he flinches away like he’s been burned by cinders. Can’t act like that didn’t hurt a bit, but—

“You’ll love me again in the morning,” you say over your shoulder on your way to your room. Shut the door behind you, slipping beneath your sheets.

You feel a pang of regret for leaving him out there by himself. Despite your body thrumming and your head spinning, you did the right thing. You’d kick yourself if you took advantage of him like that, whether he thought he wanted it or not.

On your back, you scrutinize the textured ceiling through the dusk of your bedroom. He probably won’t even remember this, you muse, turning onto your side to watch the door.

You’ve never moved quicker when a sudden spark hits you, and you comically wrestle out of the sheets to dart towards your bedroom door.

It clicks soundly when you lock it, and you’re unsure if it’s Sylus you don’t trust or yourself.

—

Of course, why the hell did you expect a locked door to stop him?

A gasp is torn from betwixt your lips, sticky in the haze of your room as dawn breaks over the horizon. Your back arches involuntarily, and you scramble for purchase of your sheets, mouth curved around a whimper.

There’s a hot pressure between your legs. Flat, textured, and wet, easing up the span of your pussy, pushing your lips apart in search of the pulsating treasure between.

You bite back a sound, drawing the sheets back to meet a set of carmine eyes glowing in the dimness. You thread your fingers in his hair, unconsciously pulling him closer, and he chuckles huskily, nuzzling against the fat of your inner thigh.

“Mmmm, told you I could make you feel good.”

Your lips work around a response, but he swoops in between your thighs again to lick you good, silencing any objections, and making your body convulse.

TBC on AO3.

international | masterlist | off the grid

[f1girliefics]

Between The Lines

Carlos Sainz x Reader

Warning: SMUT +18!

Summary: After a storm grounds all flights from Barcelona, you and Carlos Sainz are forced to share the last available hotel room. 

You’ve always found Carlos Sainz infuriating, his cocky smirks, his competitive nature, his ability to get under your skin without even trying.

But when a storm traps you together in a single hotel room overnight, the barriers between you start to crumble. 

With the rain pounding against the windows, secrets slip between the cracks, and maybe, just maybe, the storm outside isn’t the only one you’ll have to weather.

The airport buzzes with frustration, voices rising above the sound of torrential rain hammering against the floor-to-ceiling windows. 

Flights flicker across the departures board, each status changing to the same dreaded word, CANCELED.

You sigh, tugging your suitcase closer as you check your phone for alternatives. 

No trains, no rental cars available. You’re stuck in Barcelona for the night.

The groan of frustration beside you is one you recognize all too well.

Carlos Sainz.

You don’t even have to look to know he’s standing there, arms crossed, jaw tight with annoyance. Of course, out of all the people in this airport, it’s him, the man who’s spent the past few months making your life at Ferrari more complicated than it needs to be.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mutter under your breath.

Carlos turns at the sound of your voice, his brown eyes narrowing the moment they land on you. “Perfect,” he says dryly. “This night just keeps getting better.”

“Trust me, I feel the same way.”

The airline announces that passengers should seek accommodations until further notice, and that’s when the real problem begins. Hotels are booking up fast, and by the time you both reach the nearest one, there’s only one room left.

One bed.

You and Carlos exchange a look, equal parts disbelief and horror.

“Not happening,” you say at the same time.

The receptionist, unimpressed, simply raises a brow. “It’s this or the airport floor.”

Carlos mutters something in Spanish under his breath, rubbing a hand over his face. 

Then, reluctantly, he pulls out his card.

The moment the door clicks shut behind you, the tension in the air thickens. 

The room is smaller than you expected. The bed is the worst part of all.

Carlos tosses his bag onto the armchair and turns to you. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

You raise a brow. “Don’t be stupid. You’ll wake up sore and useless for the next race.”

“Then what do you suggest?” His tone is sharp, but there’s something unreadable in his expression, something almost unsure.

You inhale. “We’re adults. We can share a bed without it being a big deal.”

Carlos scoffs, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he tugs off his jacket and collapses onto the mattress with a groan. 

You hesitate before doing the same, keeping as much distance as possible.

Outside, the storm rages on. Inside, the silence stretches.

At some point, sleep becomes impossible.

Carlos shifts beside you, exhaling sharply. “You’re tense,” he murmurs.

“You’re awake?”

He lets out a quiet chuckle. “Hard to sleep when you keep sighing every five seconds.”

You roll onto your side, facing him in the dim light. “This is the longest we’ve been in the same room without arguing.”

He hums in agreement, his gaze flickering over your face. “Maybe because there’s no one else to impress.”

That makes you pause. “Is that what you think this is? That I argue with you for show?”

Carlos is quiet for a long moment. Then he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t know. Maybe I just don’t know how to act around you.”

There’s something raw in his voice, something that makes your throat tighten.

You shift closer, just a fraction. “Carlos…”

His eyes meet yours in the dark.

Something cracks open between you, something unspoken but heavy, pressing against your ribs. 

He’s so close now, his scent pulling you in.

And then, in the quiet space between thunderclaps, he lifts a hand, brushing a strand of hair from your face. It’s such a small gesture, but it steals the breath from your lungs.

“You drive me crazy,” he murmurs.

You swallow. “The feeling is mutual.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. “Maybe not in the way I thought.”

His fingers trail down, barely touching your cheek, lingering just long enough for you to know, this is different. This is real.

And before you can stop yourself, before you can talk yourself out of it, you close the distance.

The kiss is slow, testing, like neither of you quite believe this is happening. His lips are warm, careful, and then, when he realizes you’re not pulling away, more confident. He tastes like something dangerous, something impossible to forget.

When you part, his forehead rests against yours, his breathing uneven.

“Dios mío,” he whispers, a small laugh in his voice.

You smile. “What?”

“I think we’re going to have a problem.”

Outside, the storm still rages. But in here, in this bed, with his hands tangled in yours, you’ve never felt safer.

The air between you crackles, charged with something far heavier than just unresolved tension.

Carlos is still so close, his breath fanning over your lips, his forehead pressed against yours as if he’s trying to ground himself. 

But you can feel it, the way his fingers twitch against your skin, the way his chest rises and falls unevenly.

You don’t know who moves first. 

Maybe it’s you, maybe it’s him. 

But the moment your lips meet again, it’s no longer hesitant, no longer careful. It’s needy. Starved. 

The dam has broken, and there’s no stopping it now.

Carlos groans low in his throat as he rolls you onto your back, his body pressing flush against yours. His weight is solid, and grounding, and yet it sets you on fire. 

His hands, rough and warm, skim down your sides, gripping at your hips like he’s afraid you might vanish if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.

“Mierda,” he mutters against your lips, his voice thick with something primal. “I should’ve done this sooner.”

You barely have time to process his words before he kisses you again, deeper this time. 

His tongue sweeps against yours, demanding until you’re gasping into his mouth. There’s nothing slow about it now, just heat, friction, and the need to get closer.

Your hands slide under his shirt, feeling the tight muscle beneath as he shivers under your touch. 

And then, with a frustrated growl, he pulls back just long enough to take it off.

Your breath catches. 

He’s beautiful. Tan skin, a chest rising and falling with barely restrained need, dark eyes burning as they roam over you.

“Take this off,” he rasps, tugging at your shirt.

Your hands shake as you obey, and the second your bare skin is exposed, Carlos is on you again. 

His mouth trails down your jaw, and your throat, pausing only to nip at the sensitive spot just below your ear, making you whimper.

“Fuck,” he mutters, the sound almost reverent as he presses a kiss to your shoulder. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

You tug him down to you, nails digging into his back as you arch under him. “Then don’t waste time,” you whisper, breath hitching as his teeth scrape against your collarbone.

That seems to snap something inside him.

Carlos groans, his mouth claiming every inch of skin he can reach as his hands push down the waistband of your shorts, his fingers dragging over your thighs, igniting every nerve ending in their wake. His kisses turn desperate, messy, as if he’s afraid he’ll never get another chance.

“Tell me you want this,” he breathes against your skin, his voice wrecked.

“I do,” you gasp, back arching when his fingers slip between your legs. “Carlos, please.”

That’s all it takes.

The rest of your clothes disappear in a blur of hurried hands and whispered curses. 

And when he finally presses against you, when he sinks into you in one slow, breathtaking movement, you both let out a loud moan.

The stretch, the heat, it’s overwhelming, perfect. 

Carlos stills for a moment, his forehead dropping against yours, his breath ragged.

“Dios mío,” he groans. “You feel-”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t have to. 

His lips crash into yours as he starts to move, slow at first, as if savouring every second. But then you shift your hips, meeting his thrust, and something inside him cracks.

His grip tightens, his movements turning desperate, almost wild. Every roll of his hips pulls a new sound from your lips, every deep thrust pushing you closer to the edge.

Carlos is everywhere. 

His mouth on your skin, his hands roaming, his voice rough with pleasure as he murmurs your name like a prayer.

“Look at me,” he pants, his nose brushing against yours.

You force your eyes open, and the sight nearly undoes you, Carlos, completely undone, his lips parted, his brows furrowed in pleasure, his dark eyes drinking in every reaction you give him.

The coil in your stomach tightens, your nails digging into his back as you gasp, “Carlos-”

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, voice softer now, his pace turning deliberate, focused. “Let go for me, cariño.”

And when you do, when the pleasure crashes over you like a wave, Carlos follows with a groan, his grip on you tight as he buries himself as deep as he can.

The only sound left in the room is your ragged breathing, the storm still raging outside, but inside this room, everything feels calm.

Carlos presses a lingering kiss to your forehead before rolling onto his side, and pulling you into his chest. 

His hand traces lazy circles over your back, grounding you, keeping you close.

After a moment, he chuckles breathlessly. “So… we’re definitely not sleeping now.”

You laugh, still dazed, as you bury your face in his neck. “Guess we’re making the most of this storm.”

Carlos grins, tilting your chin up for another kiss. “Damn right, we are.”

[thef1diary]

Seeing Carlos talk about knowing it’d be him exiting at some point, that they’d always choose Charles… you’d always choose Carlos, and you’d let him know, sparking that possessive streak he hides not so well, that possessive streak that has you pinned underneath him and taken over and over until your body is marked and ruined enough to believe in his heart and soul that you’d always choose him 🤭

~🫠

Always Yours | C. Sainz

— hi nonnie! I love this idea! I see you coming through with the Carlos reqs 🫡 !! did i shed a tear or two while writing this? Yes, but the second half made it all worth it.

warnings: 18+ content, hurt/comfort (but the comfort is smut), unprotected sex, lots of emotions.

wc: 2.4k

masterlist

© thef1diary. all rights reserved. Do not copy, steal, translate, or repost any of my work

Carlos sat on the edge of the couch, the dim light from the setting sun casting long shadows across the room. He was soaking in the calm—the kind that felt more like stillness before a storm. 

Four years. Four years at a team that had been both an opportunity and a struggle. He wasn’t blind to the reality of it; they hadn’t valued him the way they should’ve, not for his level of talent, not for the hours of work, the sacrifices. Yet, the end still came too quickly, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment. One day he was a key player, and the next, he wasn’t. They’d found someone better.

He wasn’t mad about it. Not anymore. How could he be? They’d chosen someone better, and how do you argue with that? He couldn’t. But it didn’t stop the sting, the blunt reminder that there would always be someone better. That he’d always be the second choice, the safe option until something—or someone—shinier came along. Now, he was caught in that strange, hollow space between what had been and what would be. Not part of his team anymore, but not officially welcomed by the next. Just… nowhere.

You entered the house quietly, the familiar click of your heels on the hardwood breaking the stillness. Something felt off the moment you stepped inside. The air was heavy, the kind of silence that sat uneasily in your chest.

He barely noticed when you walked in, too caught up in the spiral of his thoughts. Your shadowed figure showed up in his peripherals, but even then, his mind lingered on the weight pressing down on his chest. His team, his career—it all felt like a reflection of something deeper, something that bled into everything else in his life. 

Including you. 

When he finally looked at you, standing by the doorway of the living room with concern etched across your face, his stomach twisted. How could he not think it? The fear that settled in him like a second skin whispered relentlessly. What if he wasn’t enough for you, either? 

You were beautiful, brilliant—everything he’d dreamed of but never truly believed he deserved. And just like the team, you had a choice. There would always be someone better, someone who could…love you more. He hated the way the thought lingered, how the doubt stretched its tendrils from one part of his life to another, weaving itself into the cracks he couldn’t seem to seal. 

“Carlos?” Your voice broke through his thoughts, soft yet steady, pulling his gaze to you. He forced a smile, but it felt brittle, ready to crumble under the weight of everything he couldn’t say.

You stepped closer, your heels muffled now by the rug. His chest tightened as you knelt in front of him, your eyes scanning his face with a kind of tenderness he didn’t feel he deserved in that moment. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, but even to his own ears, it sounded hollow.

“Carlos,” you pressed, your voice firmer this time. Your hand rested lightly on his knee, grounding him in a way that both soothed and terrified him. “Please talk to me.”

He let out a heavy sigh, his head tipping forward as he tried to find the words. His gaze dropped to your hand on his knee, your thumb brushing gently against the fabric of his jeans, and his chest ached. You were so close, so present, and yet the doubts still lingered.

“They’ll always choose someone else,” he murmured finally, his voice low, almost resigned.

You frowned, your head tilting slightly. “Who?”

He shrugged, his lips pressing into a thin line as his thoughts swirled. “The team. People. It doesn’t matter how hard I work. I’ll never be… enough.”

The way he said it, the way his voice cracked ever so slightly, sent a shiver through you. But you caught it—the hesitation, the subtle way his eyes flickered to yours before darting away. He wasn’t just talking about the team.

“Carlos,” you said softly, your fingers tightening slightly on his knee. He still wouldn’t look at you, and that only made your heart ache more. “You don’t believe that. Not really.”

His laugh was bitter, a sharp, humorless sound that made your chest tighten. “Maybe I do. It’s just how it is, isn’t it? There’s always someone better. Someone who’s the first choice.”

The words hung heavy between you, and you could see it now—how his doubts about the team had spilled over, tainting the way he saw himself in every part of his life. Including the life he has with you.

Without thinking, you reached up, cupping his cheek and forcing him to look at you. His eyes were glassy, filled with a storm of emotions you could barely stand to see. “Carlos, stop.”

He blinked at you, startled by the firmness in your voice.

“I’d always choose you,” you said, the words clear and unwavering.

He froze, his breath hitching as the meaning of your words sank in. His eyes searched yours, desperate and unsure, as if he was trying to find some hidden meaning, some loophole. “You don’t mean that,” he said quietly, his voice thick with doubt.

“I do,” you said, your thumb brushing softly against his cheek. “It’s always been you for me. I love you and only you.” 

He exhaled sharply, the sound rough and almost broken. His hands moved on instinct, gripping your wrists as his gaze bore into yours. “Say it again,” he demanded, his voice raw, almost pleading.

“I’d always choose you,” you repeated, leaning closer. “Over and over, Carlos. I don’t want anyone else.”

Carlos pulled you onto his lap, his hands firm on your waist as he brought you closer, close enough that your breath mingled with his, and your forehead rested against his. His eyes closed for a moment, his jaw clenching as if trying to hold back the torrent of thoughts that still raged within him.

He wanted to believe you. He wanted to take your words and hold them close, let them silence the insecurities that had been clawing at him all evening. But those thoughts—the ones that whispered of inadequacy, of being second best, of not being enough—they were loud. Too loud.

You could see it in his eyes when he opened them again, the flicker of doubt that he couldn’t quite hide. His lips parted, as if he was going to speak, but no words came. Instead, he just looked at you, his gaze heavy with longing, with uncertainty, with fear.

“I don’t…” he started, his voice rough, barely above a whisper.

You didn’t let him finish. You couldn’t. Instead, you leaned in, silencing him with a kiss. It wasn’t soft or tentative—it was everything you felt for him, all the love and devotion you couldn’t quite put into words. Your hands cupped his face, holding him steady as your lips moved against his, pouring everything you had into that single moment.

Carlos stilled at first, as if he wasn’t sure what to do, but then he kissed you back. Hard. Desperate. His hands gripped your waist tighter, pulling you impossibly closer until there was no space left between you. It was a kiss that begged for reassurance, for proof that your words weren’t just fleeting promises.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing heavily, your foreheads still pressed together. His eyes searched yours, wide and vulnerable in a way you hadn’t seen before.

“I love you,” you said again, your voice steady despite the way your heart was racing. “Only you, Carlos. Always you.”

“I love you too,” he finally murmured, his voice thick with emotion and just a flicker of hope breaking through the doubt. His hands tightened on your waist as if anchoring himself, grounding his belief in your words. He blinked rapidly, as though trying to chase away the tears pooling in his eyes, but he didn’t look away. Instead, his gaze hardened, a fierce intensity burning there that hadn’t been before.

“You’re mine,” he said, the words soft but laced with something unyielding, something absolute. His grip on you shifted, his hands sliding up to your back and pulling you flush against him. His forehead pressed against yours again, but this time, there was no hesitation. The possessiveness he’d always tried to keep hidden was spilling out, raw and unapologetic.

“You’re mine,” he repeated, firmer now, as though saying it would make it undeniably true.

His hands slid under your thighs, gripping you firmly as he lifted you effortlessly into his arms. Hearing you say you were his wasn’t enough—not now, not when his doubts still lingered like shadows in the back of his mind. He needed more. He needed to feel it, to see it, to make it impossible for either of you to deny.

He carried you through the house with purpose, the soft creak of the floorboards and the faint sound of your uneven breaths the only noises breaking the silence. When he reached the bedroom, he kicked the door shut behind him, not bothering to turn on the light. The darkness wrapped around the two of you like a cocoon, intimate and isolating, leaving nothing but the sound of your heartbeats pounding in tandem.

Carlos lowered you onto the bed with a tenderness that contrasted the storm brewing in his eyes. He hovered above you for a moment, his gaze roaming over your face, his chest rising and falling as though he were trying to steady himself. But then his head dipped, and his lips crashed into yours again, urgent and unrelenting. This wasn’t just a kiss; it was a claim, one that left no room for doubt or hesitation.

His hands gripped your hips, anchoring you in place as his mouth moved against yours with a hunger that stole your breath. Every movement, every touch, was filled with a raw desperation that made your chest tighten. He was pouring everything into this moment—his doubts, his fears, his love—and you felt it all.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and unsteady, as though he needed to hear the words as much as he needed to say them. “Only mine. No one else gets to have you.”

“I’m yours, Carlos,” you whispered, your voice trembling but sure. “Always yours.”

Carlos didn’t need to hear anything else. The second the words left your lips, something inside him snapped. His hands slid down to your thighs, gripping them with enough force to leave faint impressions on your skin as he parted them, slotting himself in between. 

His lips moved against yours with a renewed fervour, the kiss bruising, all-consuming, determined to leave no part of you untouched by him. 

He pushed your dress up, his hands following every inch of skin he had committed to his memory for months. His mouth followed the path of his fingers, teeth grazing and tongue soothing as he left a trail of marks along your neck, your collarbone, your chest. Each one was a statement, a reminder of his place in your life, a way to silence the nagging voice in his head that told him he wasn’t enough.

His hands left your body for just a moment, long enough for him to pull his shirt over his head and toss it aside. The sight of him—every ridge of muscle, every freckle that you’d traced with your eyes a hundred times before—made your breath hitch. He made quick work of the rest of his clothes, the urgency in his movements making it clear he couldn’t bear even a second longer without being inside you.

When he returned to you, his bare skin pressing against yours, the heat of him was almost overwhelming. His lips claimed yours again, and as he guided himself to your pussy, he paused only long enough to lock eyes with you, his gaze searing, his jaw clenched with the effort of holding himself back.

Then when you nodded, he thrusted into you, and everything else ceased to matter. The fullness of him stole the air from your lungs, the stretch of him pushing you to your limits, leaving no part of you untouched.

Carlos set a rhythm that was anything but gentle, his hips snapping against yours with an intensity that sent shivers through your body. Each thrust was deep, deliberate, as though he was determined to carve himself into you, to leave no room for doubt about who you belonged to.

“Look at me,” he groaned, his voice rough and unsteady as he leaned closer, his forehead brushing against yours. “I want to see it—see how you’re mine. Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you clung to him, almost overwhelmed by the force of his love, his desperation. “Always yours, Carlos. Always.”

A low, guttural sound rumbled in his chest at your words, and his pace quickened, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. His hands roamed your body, gripping your hips, your thighs, your waist—everywhere he could touch to remind himself that you were here, with him, for him.

His mouth found your neck again, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin before sinking in lightly, leaving another mark to join the others. “Mine,” he growled, his voice hoarse as his lips moved down to your collarbone, then your chest, claiming every inch of you with his mouth, his hands, his body. “No one else gets this. No one else gets to touch you, to hear you like this, to feel you like this.”

The possessiveness in his tone, the way his body pressed into yours as though trying to meld you together, sent you spiraling. Your body tightened around him, your cries rising in pitch as you fell apart beneath him, his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer.

Carlos didn’t stop, even as you trembled beneath him, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all. He needed more—needed to feel you come undone for him again and again until every part of you bore his mark, until there was no question in his mind or yours about who you belonged to, who you loved.

“Again,” he murmured against your skin, his voice dark, commanding. His hand slipped between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit, making you jolt, your body tightening around him once more. “I want to feel you again, mi amor. I want to feel you fall apart for me, just for me.”

And you did—again and again, until he was satisfied with the marks he left on your delicate skin, until the lingering shadows of doubt in his mind faded, and he could believe, without question, that you were his alone—that your love for him was unshakable, enduring, and meant to last forever.

[peachesofteal]

MELOS (PART TWO)

main masterlist / Azriel's masterlist

Part One / Melos masterlist 5k words - AO3 Tags: 18+ mdni. Blood, feelings of fear and panic. Reader POV. Trauma. Protective Azriel. Canon-compliant, post ACOSF and HOFAS. "I would spend a lifetime earning your forgiveness"

The fly amanita has been eluding you.

It’s speckled red cap is usually so easy to spot, but you’ve been trudging through the woods all day, turning over logs and peering around tree trunks to no avail. You’re getting closer and closer to the break in the forest, the one bordering a large meadow rich with wildflowers, the one you hardly venture to unless you’re truly desperate for something specific.

You’re seriously considering it when something dusky red catches your attention from the corner of your eye, and you breathe a sigh of relief as you spot the healthy patch of fungi. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” you sink to your knees, digging down to the roots. The soil is wet, freshly damp from a recent rainstorm, and it sticks to your fingertips. “Such a pain in-“

Magic scrapes at your skin. Long gruesome fingers of something unseen try to clutch at you, drag you away, and your power surges to meet it, beating it back to the gloom it calls home. You shudder. The magic from your mother's blood, the gifts the Middle grants you, are enough to keep you safe, protect you from most things in this place, the ones nefarious and full of malice, but that does not mean they do not try. 

You exhale, breathing freely in the crisp winter breeze whispering through the trees, rustling the deadfall into small vortexes that spin across the wood, twisting upward in a delicate dance of changing seasons. You lift your face to the sun just as the wind turns dark, smoky grey, and then explodes in a burst of ink, onyx spilling around the mushrooms, wisps snaking through the stems towards your knees.

You swat them away.

Azriel.

You grit your teeth. Don't think about him, don't think about him, don't think- 

A shadow brushes against you like a feather, and you hiss. 

Azriel.

The male who tortured you. Used you. Gained your trust to hurt you. Suffocated you until you thought you were going to die, until spots appeared in your vision and your heart slowed. The male that hurt you, in more ways than one. 

Fooled into falling for a ruse, you believed it meant something every time your heart thundered when he was near, how your magic crooned for him, tried to reach for him, touch him. The pain you saw in him, over and over again, a mirror to your own, led you to believe in a fairy tale that never existed, a stupid notion about two halves of a whole, only for it to crumble and reveal manipulation and lies.

And after it all, whatever he gleaned from you he must have determined to be inconsequential, since no one has shown up at your door to haul you away for execution. No one came to imprison you, or banish you, or torture you, again. No one came to take you away from your home, your life, like you were expecting.

He did it for nothing.

The shadows are an ever-present reminder.

Ever. Present.

They collect in the corners at work, they trail along the ground as you run your errands, go to dinner, visit your only friend in the city.

Thankfully, they seem to stay out of your house, though in the middle of the night, it’s not so easy to tell.

You shoot them a glare. “Run back to your master and leave me alone, for the hundredth time.” You have no concept of a Shadowsinger’s magic, or an Illyrian’s, no idea if the shadows see, or hear, or speak. Their presence frustrates you, and his hoarse attempt at an apology that night still haunts you. Why does he not just come to speak with you? Explain himself? Justify his actions?

It’s been weeks, and still nothing. Silence from the Spymaster. Your rage that was once all consuming is starting to cool, leaving a mess of confusion and pain in its place. 

You need to let it go, you must, but the music persists, faintly there in the back of your mind, a melody you can’t forget.

It’s a double-edged sword, one that slices and stings. You see him in your nightmares, and your dreams. In the dark, you hear his voice, cold and calculating, pacing around you in a suffocating circle, and in the sun, you see him in the Middle, ablaze in a mist of brilliant blue, brushing his lips against yours.

You’ve grown familiar with how a room changes when one of the Wraith sisters arrive. Shadow rolls in like a fog, dissipating as they materialize, grey gossamer turning to smoky quartz, taking shape as a beautiful female, her eyes iridescent like black pearls. 

Rarely, do the twins ever come together. 

Today is the exception. 

Cerridwen gives you a half smile, gaze lingering on your clothes. “If I made you a new frock, would you throw this one out? It’s nearly in tatters.” You huff.

“This is my work frock; it’s supposed to be a bit messy.”

“It’s not messy, it’s falling apart.” She raises an eyebrow, and Nuala places a slender hand on the stack of brown paper wrapped packages on the table.

“How are you?” The question is loaded, expectant, and they watch you, analyzing every second of whatever is showing on your face.

“I’m fine.” Are you? The lie is so painfully obvious, and they exchange a look. 

“Azriel,” Nuala begins cautiously, “has asked if you would be open to seeing him.” You freeze.

“I..”

“In a public place of your choosing, in the city.” The very idea tips you off balance, blindsides you. Could you do it? See him? 

“With a third party, if you would like.” Cerridwen adds. Maybe this is your chance at closure, an opportunity to put it to rest. “Take some time to decide, and we’ll-“

“No, no. I’ll do it.” You scramble to think of a place where you’ll feel safe, somewhere you’ll be among many, and not few. “Is… Rose and Thorn okay? It’s in the Palace of Thread and Jewels.” They nod.

“Of course. And a third party?” You shake your head. Something in your soul assures you no chaperone is needed, and you allow it to guide you. “Very well.” Nuala waves her hand, wisps of storm clouds floating around her fingers-

And then Wraith sisters are gone.

He’s there before you.

Seated at a table outside, elegant and sculpted, an exquisite, eldritch beauty accentuated by strong, chiseled lines. His skin glows golden brown in the warm bath of the sun, flecks of caramel and green, honey and oak painted together like a priceless landscape in his irises. His wings are tucked in a tight formation at his back, but even in restraint, they shudder, their membranes more unique than a snowflake, more delicate than a spider’s web.

He’s almost too stunning to look at. The beauty of a god. A prince of shadow, shining in winter’s glow.

Suddenly, you’re very self-conscious, fighting the urge to pick at the frayed threads of your dress, too aware of how faded its once emerald green is, how fast your heart is beating, anxiety and pin pricks of fear cascading up your spine, coupled with an undeniable longing that shakes you to your core.

An ocean tide too strong drags your eyes to his, holding you captive in its current, the two of you suspended, floating, woven together in a melody, same song you’ve been hearing, feeling, all this time, elusive, empyreal notes harmonizing across your soul, your magic. The heat of the patio, magic humming in the air producing the equivalent of a warm spring day, urges you out of the cold and towards the table, meeting him where he stands, so tall he towers over you. 

“Hello.” Your stomach flips. This is suddenly harder than you imagined, and you’re being torn in two, afraid and yearning, two sides of a coin. His eyes gentle, and he moves back a fraction, giving you space. You manage to clear your throat.

“Hi.” You can’t look away, and finally, after a second turned eternity, he motions to the chair.

“Would you like to sit?”

“Sure.” The words are stiff, like your back, and you hold yourself rigid, hands clasped together in your lap.

“Thank you for coming, I… I know this was a lot to ask.” You nod, unable to make your mouth move. “Are you well?”

“Yes.” You’ll need more than one syllable answers to get through this, and you fight against the vice squeezing in around you, trying shake loose the battle raging in your blood. There's a need to protect yourself, fortify yourself... and another, one humming a song of wonder, of desire, a song you don't know the words to. He takes a deep breath.

“There’s nothing I can say to excuse what I did, and I know you have no reason to trust me, but I-“

"What you did? You tortured me, you terrorized me. You made me feel like I was dying. and I... why did you… why did you waste your time tricking me into thinking you were… we were… it was all fake.” Your voice breaks, and his eyes flash with despair. “You tricked me into trusting you, letting you get… close,” you study the tabletop, fingertips tracing loops in the woodgrain, trying to maintain your control. You can’t let him see how badly it hurts; how awful it is to know whatever you thought was happening between the two of you wasn’t real, how he's shattered your own trust in yourself. How could you not see the deceit? How could have fallen for such a blatant deception? How could you allow yourself to be hurt like that? These are the questions keeping you from sleep as they toss about in your mind, scolding you, chastising you for allowing yourself to be so weak. Stupid. “Why waste all that time if you were just going to do it? The act itself was... it was terrible but the manipulation, the lie that came with it, feels worse somehow.” Your cheeks heat with shame, mortified at the tears now blurring your vision, and his hand twitches, almost jerks towards yours before sliding away.

“There are no words in any language, anywhere, to tell you how sorry I am. I would spend a lifetime earning your forgiveness, if you’d let me.” Everything you want to fight back with, the words you wish to bury him with, die on your tongue as you stare at him with wide eyes. “I don’t deserve to see you or ask for a moment of your time. I don’t even deserve this chance you’ve given me today but… nothing was a trick, it was not fake. I was a fool.” You know you should say something, but still nothing comes, and there’s a rising uneasiness emanating from his, shadows shivering around him in a halo. “I would ask you to strike a bargain with me.” What?

“A bargain?” He nods solemnly, face set with resolve, foreign limerence weighed down by sorrow reflecting in his gaze.

“Allow me to spend some time with you, to show you how sorry I am, to prove how real it was, and in return, I will owe you a debt.” You fight to keep your face blank, smothering an outward ripple of shock. Maybe he’s gone insane.

“You… the Spymaster of the Night Court… would owe me a debt.” You chew on it, toss it around between your cheeks, try to digest the enormity of it. A debt could be anything, it’s a favor, a wish, a request that must be granted, no matter what it is. You could ask that he drink a vial of poison, and he’d have to do it. Could ask him to leave Pyrthian, and he’d have no choice. Most importantly, you could ask him to leave you alone. Forever. “And if I asked you to never speak to me again?” He winces.

“That would be your right.” This is a bad idea. Your magic trills, vibrating with a strange yearning, again guiding you away from the rational choice and into an agreement.

“I will see you once a week for a month, and in return, you will owe me a debt,” you extend your hand, “and swear not to harm me.” You add hastily, expecting him to refuse, or attempt to change the terms, but he meets you with zero hesitation.

The magic hits you like a gale force wind, wild and too strong, planting itself in your skin to push ink to the surface.

A tree.

The roots sprawl around your wrist, twisting upward into a trunk and then outward into branches, spreading wide until they’re nearly touching on the inside of your forearm. He snags a finger under the cuff of his shirt to reveal the tattoo’s twin, the concrete vow between the two of you plain as day.

What did you just do? 

You’re taking advantage of the first meeting. Having a second with you, a powerful, formidable second, gives you an opportunity to trek into a more dangerous, more unstable part of the Middle in search of a rare mineral.

You’re also using it as punishment, irritated with the small twinge of guilt growing in your side. He strides along at your side silently, shadows skittering ahead across the forest floor, disappearing and reappearing at will, as if they’re scouting and reporting.

“Will you tell me where we’re going?” He finally asks, cocking his head to the side as you stop for a moment to catch your breath. He’s not winded at all, of course, and you’re starting to regret this choice, while also trying to avoid staring at him. Every time he moves into your line of sight, your palms sweat and you remember how his laugh sounded on the steps of your house, how he earnest he was when asking you questions. You remember the kiss, and the way his mouth felt upon yours. You remember it all, and butterflies take flight in your belly. 

But being alone with him in a dangerous place such as this, is also a stark reminder. A reminder of the last time you were alone with the Spymaster, truly alone, and how it ended. 

“There’s a cave a bit from here where a very rare crystal grows. Its mineral compound is a key piece to a specific elixir.” His lips twitch into a small, barely there smile, reading between the lines.

“You’ve brought me along for back up.” You smirk.

“You didn’t say what spending time together had to entail.” You shift your backpack. “It's just past this bog up ahead.” He stops short, eyes sharp, tensing.

“A bog?”

“Yes. You know… like a swamp?”

“Of Oorid?” You blink.

“You know the Bog of Oorid?”

“I’ve been there.” Now it’s your turn to scrutinize him. Could you have underestimated this male, again? 

“Why?” You shiver. You’ve visited the Bog before, twice, and left each time with a new scar, a new nightmare.

“We were looking for something.” We? Questions brew in the back of your mind, so many of them they’re hard to contain, but you’d hate to appear too interested in him and his adventures.

“Did you find it?”  He nods and says nothing. Fine then. “It’s not the Bog of Oorid, just a boring swamp. C’mon.”

You withhold a key piece of information regarding the swamp.

It’s quite hateful, if you’re honest, and a small part of you weeps at your own vindictiveness, but the vengeful side feels too smug, too satisfied.

“It’s this way.” You take the lead, stepping into the ankle-deep muck. “Sorry, you’ll have to get a bit dirty.” The trees here are warped, bent to the undertow of the swamp, stripped of their life, yet still thriving, flourishing in the inert, foul water. Wicked, and greedy, they creak and coo, relishing each cursed step Azriel takes. Your magic crests, drawing up through the Middle, and you smile to yourself as the mud reaches mid-calf. Right about now-

He hisses.

“Are you alright?” You call innocently over your shoulder, now paces away, reveling in the sound of him fighting against the sludge's hold. When he doesn’t answer, your heart quickens, and you turn.

He’s shaking his head, wings flared at his back, muscles flexing beneath his leathers, trying to work himself free, and you bite your tongue to keep from telling him it won't work.

The swamp is a collector, a keeper of things, admirer of the rare and unusual. You’re sure it’s never ensnared an Illyrian before.

“Careful,” you sing, “struggling makes it worse.” He’s knee deep but surprises you when he breaks a leg free and takes another step, cobalt blue siphons beginning to gleam, shining into the dark green stagnant water and pockets of mire. Interesting.

“Clever little witch.” He's amused, reverent, and you're irritated by his reaction. “How does it not trap you?” Keening echoes through your soul, frantic and tortured. It’s reaching for something, crying for something, steeped in a distress you don’t understand. An incessant tugging, the faint sound of a melody. A chiming of bells, ringing, and ringing, and ringing. You steady yourself with a deep breath.

“I ask it not to. My magic comes from the Middle, like my mother’s. It makes things... more amenable to me.” You make it sound far worse than it is to spook him, but he only watches you with interest, keen eyes dissecting you from the inside out.

“And will you ask it to release me?” 

“Maybe.” You shrug. He sinks farther, now trapped to his mid-thigh, and your pulse races. You had planned to leave him here, trap him here until you came back, but your magic is clawing at you, heart trying to beat out of your chest, fear and panic colliding with an instinct buried so deep, it can’t be cut out or ignored, an instinct trying to push you into his arms, pleading with you to help him. It hurts, trying to fight it is like trying to swim against a current, your muscles screaming at the struggle, your power thrashing in your veins. The music is no longer a delicate, enchanting thing but a symphony flowing into a fortissimo, brass and strings and keys digging into your soul.

It's too much, your heart pounds in your ears, magic shredding your restraint.

It's too much, and you long to go to him. 

Release him, you command the swamp, and it tightens its embrace, a lover clinging to another, refusing to relent.

Is this not for me?  

No. He is mine. Release him. Now. You press onward, urging the swamp to relax, it’s reluctant acquiesce bringing you a relief so strong you have to hold yourself steady. It recedes, and the two of you stand face to face, chests heaving. You don’t understand what’s happening to you, what this war that rages in your magic, your heart, your entire being means.

He closes his eyes, the shadows receding, disappearing entirely as he takes a long, measured breath, his hand pressing against his ribs, still deep in the dredge of the fen. 

"Are you alr-" 

“Is there anything else I should be aware of, before we continue?” He cuts you off, the heat radiating from his body coming in waves, and you push against the pull.

“No.” You croak. He inclines his head.

“Very well. Lead the way.”

“Why don’t you winnow here?” You're seated on a rock outside the mouth of the cave. The trek itself is the most dangerous part of this task, and the crystal retrieval was uneventful. Boring, even, as you walked side by side with Azriel in silence, contemplating the unexpected amount of remorse over the swamp settling in your stomach like lead.

“I don’t winnow to most places in the Middle if I can help it.”

“No?”

“You never what will be waiting for you, or what you will discover, when you arrive.” You take a bite of your apple and sneak a glance at him. “You’re not angry. About the swamp.”

“No.” He’s preternaturally still, but rife with intensity, alight with an ache you can’t describe.

“Why?”

“I deserve far worse from you.” You say nothing, because what can you say? It’s true.

But if it’s true, why does it feel so awful? 

You stand abruptly, eager to separate yourself from this situation, this confusion and confliction. “I should get these back.” Winnowing from the Middle, at least, is a perfectly safe option, and you’re eager for the escape now.

“Next week?” Your head is pounding, limbs twitching like your body has a will of its own, and suddenly you’re drained, magic and will quickly depleting. He steps closer, brows knitted together in concern. “Are you okay?” No. 

“Y-yeah. I’m going to… I’m going to go.” He frowns.

“You look ill.”

“I’m just tired. The swamp takes it out of me.” You lie weakly with a halfhearted smile that lacks conviction, and before you can do something stupid like reach for him, you draw on your power, giving him one last look. “Next week.”

You’re at the Palace of Bone and Salt when it happens.

The market is packed to the brim, overflowing, most caught up in the approach of Winter Solstice. It’s still weeks out, but all are always eager to celebrate the city’s favorite holiday. Boughs of holly and evergreen, ribbons of red and green decorate the square, twinkling fae lights nestled high and low. You’re looking for bone marrow, but can’t help loitering by the chocolatier’s stall, his perfectly crafted confections artfully arranged in pyramids stretching far past your head. He catches your eye with a smile. “Would you like to try anything?”

“Oh, no, but thank you. They always look so lovely.” He pulls a pink chocolate swirl from the collection that’s caught your eye and holds it out to you.

“On the house then, for Solstice.”

“Thanks so-“ Your gratitude is stolen by a groan, one rattling upward from beneath your feet, the entire market rumbling so violently the stalls creak, their goods tipping to the side.

A quake. 

They’re rare, but not unheard of. The mountains breathe, stretching and straining, the plates they’re built upon occasionally shifting and realigning, all of it causing Velaris’ foundation to shake. These things you know, but you’ve never experienced it firsthand, and you didn’t expect such… force.

The shopkeeper dives beneath his counter, others running in every direction through the market, panic and fear permeating the air. They’re looking for cover, afraid the second and third story buildings may come crashing down on their heads, while others try to outrun it, sprinting away as fast as they can manage.

It’s pandemonium. Everyone is being tossed around, marble and wood falling and rolling, and you’re frozen, rapidly trying to weigh the options, decide what to do when something catches your eye.

A child.

She’s standing in the middle of an aisle, screaming for her mum, and without hesitation, you snag her around the waist to tuck her into your chest, covering the back of her head as you curl into a ball and huddle beneath the counter of the first stall you see.

That’s where you stay, for the next ten minutes. Curved over this little girl who can’t be more than two, holding onto her as tight as you can to quell her screaming, trying to calm her. Things fall on you, something scrapes the side of your face, and it stings, but you don’t let go. You can’t.

You’re somewhere else in your mind. In the Middle as a child, running as fast as you can to the boundary, trying to get to safety as your mother howls. Claws scratch down your back, blackened, putrid magic tries to drag in the bowels of the forest, all while horrid shrieking and crying fills your head. The boundary is too far, and you fold yourself into a hollow, a damp, muddy nest inside the base of a tree where you hold your breath and sit really still, just like you were taught.

The quake ricochets around you, but the screeching in your ears is not from this time, this moment. It’s from then, you and this small child in your arms now the same, scared, alone, and crying for your mothers.

Even once the rumbling stops, you don’t move. Too afraid it will start again and you’ll be caught in the open, you wait. The sticky, festering sap of the memory clings to your synapses, refusing to let you go, embedding itself beneath your skull like it needs to live there, as if you could ever forget. There are moans from the injured, confusion and worry from those who took shelter, but multiple voices rise over the din of everyone else, giving instructions, looking for the wounded and those who need help immediately.

“- was right here, but she let go of my hand… there were too many-“ a frantic female’s voice echoes over through the market, and her terror is met by a kind, reassuring voice.

“We’ll find her.” The girl in your arms makes no attempt to free herself, still shivering in your hold, clinging to you with all her might, and you stay rooted to your spot.

There’s a brush of magic against your mind, a gentle caress that probes the dense sedge wall, and you push it away, opening your eyes to see a beautiful female crouched in front of you. “Hello.” The High Lady. The little girl finally moves, wriggling against you.

“Mara!” Her mother calls, rushing over and scooping her into her arms, sobbing. She looks her daughter over and then holds her tight before trying to approach you. “Thank you, thank you,” she’s reaching for your hand, trying to squeeze it in a manner of gratitude, of love, but you can’t move, still grappling with the noise ringing in your head. There’s more conversation, more of the High Lady’s voice, patient and gentle, and another’s, deeper, heavier.

“-shock, maybe?”

“-go get him,”

“Cassian-“ The second voice is enough to startle you back to yourself somewhat, and you carefully stretch your limbs, crawling out from under the counter and away from them, standing up on your own two feet. The High Lady holds her hand out as if you steady you. “Easy. You’re hurt.” Hurt? You instinctively touch your face, fingers coming back stained crimson. You need to get out of here, need to get as far away from all of this as you can. You’re still trying to right yourself, convince yourself you’re here, not there.

“Maybe you should sit down.” The other one, the big Illyrian who you met in this very place months ago, watches you with concern. You’re shaking, lungs expanding, searching for as much air as they can find, warm trickle of blood falling over your lips and down your chin. Pain registers slowly, no longer isolated to your face, but in your side too, and when you press your hand to your ribs, wet fabric squishes beneath it. More blood.

“Let's get you to a healer,” the High Lady tries, motioning to your head, your side, and when you don’t respond, she frowns, glancing at her companion. The wailing is finally quieting to a point where you can properly think, but words still won’t come, and she’s about to say something else when shadows swirl around the three of you, and Azriel drops from the sky.

Azriel. Your heart sings his name, and the double-edged sword cuts to the quick, opening you up to a strange spark in your chest.

He looks… awful. Insane, even. Wide eyes find you, his wings stretched into a defensive position, shadows spread around him in a dark cloud, and his fear is so palpable you swear you can feel it. All you can do is stare at him as he frantically takes you in, focus never wavering, even as he speaks to those at your side. “What happened?”

“We found her under here,” Cassian points to your hiding spot, “protecting a little girl. We think she’s in shock.”

“She needs a healer.” He grits, hands flexing and relaxing from flat palm into fist, repeatedly.

“We know.” The High Lady angles her body between you and the Shadowsinger. “Az,” her voice is serious, with an undercurrent of authority, “maybe you should back-“

“You need a healer.” He ignores her, and you shake your head. You need to get out of here, to get somewhere safe where you can try to rip out the rot of these memories still nipping at your heels. 

“I need to go. Home, I need to go… home.” I need to go home? That’s the best you can come up with? Cassian snorts, and Azriel says your name, an edge of dominance cutting through the haze of your mind. The blood loss is making you woozy, and the ground is unsteady, continent turning over as you start to feel sluggish. Your vision grows blurry, and then there’s a hand on your cheek.

“Look at me, it's okay.” Azriel murmurs, and you try. You do. There’s something about his touch, the texture of his hands that soothes you, comforts you, but the world is falling away, and darkness is taking you, tugging you into the lull of sleep.

You curl your fingers into his shirt, a last-ditch effort at staying upright, at staying awake, looking up into a never-ending swirl of hazel, green moss and bright umber drenched in panic.

They’re the last thing you see before everything goes black and you slip under.

[w1ll0wray]

LET’S RUN AWAY ft. jinx x fem!reader

⊹₊⟡⋆ summary: after hearing the news of her escaping prison, you finally find your girlfriend in desperate need of comfort.

⊹₊⟡⋆warnings: mention of suicide, minors or men dni, jinx almost attempting, mention of other characters.

wc. 1.4k

𐙚 note | I’d really appreciate it if you would not only just like, but also reblog & give me feedback. thank you:)

You ran for god knows how long. Pushing over people— you had one target in mind.

Jinx.

She got out. She got out of jail. She somehow got out and now you were determined to find her. You knew what she was planning— after Isha’s death, her one goal was to end it all. You didn’t want that to happen. 

Caitlyn gave her a chance— a chance to restart. But all Jinx did was escape, without even seeing you. The look on her face when the explosion dissipated, Isha nowhere in sight, it broke your heart to see her surrender. Thankfully, you had sneakily got out before anyone could arrest you— sharing one last look with your girlfriend. It’s been a week since you’ve seen her.

Enforcers flooded Zaun, surveying the areas— surveying the areas to catch you. Right now, you didn’t care if your hood had fallen and revealed your face. 

You had to get to Jinx.

Catching a sniff of fire, you swiftly took a turn, eyes widening at the Last Drop lit up in flames. 

“Oh no.” You scrambled around the building, taking a few turns until a door finally came into view. Barging in, you skipped a few stairs down, almost falling onto your face until another door appeared. Hurrying, you slammed the door open to her hideout, heart leaping out of your chest at the sight of Jinx dangerously standing by the edge. 

“Jinx!” You called out, prompting her to turn her head towards your panicked self. Sighing in relief, you bolted to her and flung your arms around her. 

She remained frozen, eyes not meeting yours as you explained how relieved you were, arms still tight around her. Noticing her absent behavior, you raised your head up, eyes filling up with tears.

“I’m sorry about everything, Jinx.” You sniffle out, slowly moving her away from the edge, hand coming up to cup her cheek, “I’m so sorry.” 

Her rosy eyes remained on the ground, face emotionless. Your arms were around her waist and shoulder, holding her incase she’d disappear again, “Please, Jinx.” Your finger caressed her cheek, searching for any sign of emotion. 

When she doesn’t budge, you burst into tears, tucking her head into the crook of your neck as you hugged her, “I love you so much,” Letting your fingers thread through her short hair. 

“I’m with you, always.” You whispered through sobs, hand on the back of her head, “It’s not your fault—I promise.” Tightening your hold around her, you felt defeated at the thought of her enduring torture in that cell alone. You should’ve never run away— you should’ve surrendered alongside her. 

Maybe then, she wouldn’t have been so alone. Repeating your soft hearted words, you silently hoped that she was indeed listening.

 Lost in tears, you unexpectedly felt the fabric of your shirt turn damp. Pausing, you slowly pull away, eyes searching hers, only to freeze. Your chest tightened, and it felt like your heart had cracked in two as tears streamed down her cheeks. 

A faint whimper slipped from her lips, bottom lip quivering as her gaze finally met yours. Eyes glistening with tears, she grit her teeth, trying to hold back her sobs. Noticing her restrain herself, you lifted her face with your hands, “You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met.” You swept her into your embrace as soon as she faltered, causing her crumble into a flood of tears. 

Once you both met the floor, you pulled her into your arms without hesitation, hand resting on her shuddering body. It was like old times— when she used to crawl back into your arms when Silco scolded her or kicked her out of a mission. 

Running a soothing hand over her hair numerous times, you felt her body soften into yours. 

Without warning, her hands tremble as they wrapped around you, “I can’t live like this anymore.” Her voice was quieter, as if she’d fall apart any moment. 

You frowned, lips pressed together, “We’ll find a way, I promise.” Whispering, you cradle her face, tired eyes meeting yours, 

“It’s not your fault.” She knew you meant Isha and…Vander. 

Though, in the blink of an eye, a gust of wind came from behind you. You whirl your head around, eyes widening at the sight of an old friend. 

Green sparkles enveloping him as he took steady steps towards you both, “I just want to talk.”

“You think she’ll be alright?” You mumbled, finger rubbing your eyes, glancing at Jinx snoozing beside you in Isha’s fort. Ekko only sighed, “We have two choices,” 

You quirked up, watching him get up, “, we join in the war or…” He stares at Jinx’s body laying into yours, “We run away.” 

He knew the answer, there was no way you’d let Jinx go kill herself. No one knows what she might do if she sees Vander again— or even Vi. Raising your head to meet his eye, you said the words , “We run away.” 

Later that night, Ekko had gone out to make sure of things, leaving you to take care of Jinx. She had woken up shortly after his departure, her emotions all over the place. 

“I don’t deserve to live!” She cries out, tears starting to cascade down her face, trying to avoid your touch, “I need to die.” 

You tried your best to stay calm, hands landing on her bare shoulders, “You think you’re the only one with all the guilt?” Cupping her face, you nuzzle her closer, 

“Everyone in this world has done something they regret.” You reassured, gently planting a kiss on her forehead, sensing her tension ease. Afterwards, you tried feeding her some fruits that had been out in the abandoned stalls. She only ate three pieces before commenting that her stomach hurt. 

Thankfully, Ekko had returned, a smile spreading across his face, “I managed to get us a ride.” A surge of relief blossomed in you, prompting you to turn your attention back to Jinx, a soft smile etched on your face.

“We can get out of here.” Her eyes widened, a sign of life returning. That night, Ekko helped Jinx cut her hair, shaving signs of her past life. You were secretly upset about her beautiful locks but accepted it eventually. 

You all decorated each other in marker, Jinx cracking a smile for the first time. She even had the full course meal Ekko had given you both, her face a bit fuller. Once it was time to sleep, she snuggled into you, craving your warmth. 

In a blink of an eye, it was morning and the streets felt emptier. You all absorbed the undercity one last time before departing from your childhood home. Jinx had her hand in yours, trembling when signs of places she’d been in came into view. You reassured her with a squeeze, “We’re almost there.” Nodding, she let you both guide her out and into the shining sun of Piltover. 

War was near, all the enforcers were gone in some parts, guarding up in town square. Finally reaching the station, you pulled Jinx alongside you as Ekko gestured to the airship.

“It’ll get you out and into another city.” You frowned as he stayed on the ground, not entering with you both. 

“Are you not coming?” You asked, noticing his saddened expression. His gaze lands on the hextech building before meeting yours again, “I need to save my people.” 

Jinx tensed up beside you before running towards him and engulfing him in a tight hug, “Are you insane—?” 

“—Find happiness, Powder.” His voice cracked, eyes glistened as she embraced him, his bottom lip quivering, “Try to send me a message when you can.” He sniffled out, patting her back once she let go. 

You nodded, watching as Jinx slowly walked towards you, “Thank you for everything, Ekko.” Wrapping your arms around him, you then let go, shoving his shoulder with yours, “Stay safe, our boy savior.’” 

He chuckled, guiding you into the airship, a tear escaping down his cheek, “Fate will bring us back together.” 

Jinx held onto your arm as the airship started departing, her cheek resting on your shoulder as you waved goodbye. Feeling her gaze on you, you tilt your head down, a brow raising, “Hm?” 

She pouts, eyes innocently gazing up at you, “We’re in this together,…right?” 

You giggled, gathering her in your arms tightly as if she’d disappear any minute, 

“Together.” 

wanted to write a different one. Hope you enjoyed! ps. thank you sm for the wonderful requests I’m trying my best to reply to them all ! but for the ones asking for part 2 there’s a high chance I won’t reply depending on the one shot :) but continue with new ideas I luv it.

[thinkinonsense]

- taking turns.

pairing: x trilogy!logan howlett x fem!reader x ironman 2!natasha romanoff

cw: p in v, spanking, slight voyerism, dirty talk, dom!nat, switch!logan, sub!reader, oral (fem receiving), slight jealousy, spitting, creampie, strap on sex, squirting, bickering

a/n: may or may not be working on a few different logan x f!reader x natasha fics based on their different variants. hope you all enjoy <3

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──

no matter what it was, logan and natasha couldn't share if their lives depended on it. the three of you have been living together for a couple months now and it seems as if every day they are bickering over something stupid like the television remote, the last baked good that you made, and most importantly, you.

"lo..." you whimper against his lips. "we should wait for nat to come home."

the air was hot and heavy between the two of you. honestly, neither of you two know how it began. one moment you are both watching a movie then the next moment, he has you pinned down underneath him on the couch.

"she won't be back for hours, princess..." he mutters between little nips along your neck. "and i need you now."

ever since the three of you started this relationship, you've set some basic ground rules. one, both parties are solely interested in you; which was easy considering their distaste for each other. two, no one on one time. everyone gets treated the same. both of them liked to watch you crumble every chance they got, even if they weren't the ones doing it.

now, there were a few rare occasions were the rules have been broken. like that time where nat and you did a girls getaway for a weekend or that other time when logan bent you over in his office while nat went on a mission in d.c.

"i can smell how much you want me too." logan groans, grinding his covered crotch against yours. "c'mon, honey... natasha will forgive you."

one of his big hands snakes its way under your shirt to squeeze your breast, distracting you enough to give in. logan then picks you up in his arms and takes you into your guys bedroom. clothes are thrown all around the floor during the process until you're left in your bra and underwear and he's left in just his jeans and boxers. the moment logan lays you down on the bed, you flip the two of you over with a thud against the mattress.

"there's my needy girl." logan smirks, watching you kiss and bite down his neck and chest.

you don't respond in words, only a soft moan as you sink your teeth into his bicep. logan groans, tugging your hair a little to pull you off which only turn you on more.

"dirty little fuckin' thing." he chuckles as you watch your bite mark disappear in seconds. "you needed this more than me, huh?"

he sits up to kiss you but before he gets the chance, you shove him back down against the mattress.

"shut up." you giggle.

once you get his jeans off and he's left bare under you, you slip off your panties and line him up to your entrance. not even fully adjusted to his length yet before logan hears keys jiggling in the door.

"f-fuck, right there." you sigh, slowly moving your hips and finding the perfect rhythm.

down the hall, natasha kicks off her heels and follows the heavenly sound of your whimpers. logan sees nat in the doorway, watching you ride him on the bed.

"so tight for me, princess." he groans with his head thrown back. his thumb made its way down to your button, circling it as he thrusts up into you.

nat makes her way over to the bed, watching you like her prey. too caught up in your own pleasure to realize that it's her hands on your hips, moving you up and down on logan's cock.

"were you this fuckin' needy that you couldn't wait for me to get home?" she asks, breath ticking your neck.

"i-it... fuck, it was l-logan's idea." you pout.

"don't lie, дорогой." she tsked at you. "you'll only make your punishment worse."

without another word, she shoves you down until you are chest to chest with logan. unbeknownst to you, nat and him share a look before she nods; her finger tips trace up your spine until they grip your hair, pulling your head back as logan starts to fuck up into your tight wet heat.

"n-not fair." you pout with a whimper.

"and who said that we have to play fair?" natasha's palm strikes down on your ass.

your back arches at the mix of both pain and pleasure that they give you. her hand slides up your breast, squeezing and pinching your nipples while logan's thumb circles your clit.

"p-please, p-please let me come." you moan, feeling yourself near your high.

"nuh-uh." natasha hissed, slapping logan's hand away from your clit. "you know the rules when you misbehave."

no matter how mean natasha gets, she always makes sure that you're cared for. she is quick to sink her canine teeth into that sweet spot on your neck while rolling your nipples in between her fingers.

"she's so fuckin' pretty, tasha." logan grunts while thrusting harder into your weeping cunt. "should get a look at her."

she lifts up and over you, gripping your chin and pulling your head back to look at you.

"open up, дорогой." she smiles wickedly down at you.

with eyes rolled back, you blindly obey her order as she spits onto your tongue. just as that happens, logan twitches before spilling inside of you. his hands held your hips so tightly, sure to leave bruises tomorrow.

"alright, howlett..." nat glares down at the man. "it's my turn."

logan smirks, not upset in the slightest. if anything he enjoyed seeing this side of the two of you. nat gets up to finish stripping herself of her clothes while logan lifts you up carefully, placing a tender kiss on your lips. you attempt to keep him close, knowing only he can reel natasha in from whatever punishment she has in store for you.

"p-please, lo." your lip quivers as you plead to him with a fucked out gaze.

"sorry, princess." he chuckles. "can't save ya' from her now."

as he gets up, he grabs a cigar off the nightstand and lights it as natasha walks back over to you. the familiar feeling of silicone slaps your puffy clit, making you wince.

"natty, i'm so close..." you whimper, wrapping your legs around her waist. this motion allows the silicone to slip past your opening with ease thanks to logan's release still dripping out of you.

"what makes you think i should let you?" she smiles down at you before beginning her erratic thrusts, almost as brutal as logan's were.

"b-been good, p-promise." you pout, scrunching your nose and trying not to cum without her permission.

"you really think that fuckin' howlett was a good thing?" she asks.

"don't get jealous, tasha." he grins, teasing her.

"she wasn't moaning this loud when you were inside of her." she quips back in response.

"no fighting." you struggled to say, too fucked out at this point.

the sound of your moans broke up their bickering. nat's right hand slides up and around your throat, squeezing just the way you adore.

"g-gonna..." you warn, distracted by a vision of stars as natasha's other hand rubs your clit. never have you felt such an intense wave of euphoria wash over you.

by the time you could even open your eyes again, natasha's abs are covered in your slick and so were logan's thighs from inches over. both of them stare at you with lustful dark blown out eyes. with two fingers running up her abdomen, natasha collects your slick and pushed them past her smeared red lipstick.

"my turn, tasha." logan is quick to say, taking her place.

well, at least they were learning to share.

[ccupcakeyss]

hiyaaa can I request a similar vibed piece to the xavier comfort fic you posted recently but with sylus instead ? I've gone back and reread that piece at least 30 times I swear, it's genuinely so comforting :') but maybe reader comes home exhausted (or maybe Sylus notices and comes to them?) from a long day or week just like truly drained and in need of comfort.... yeah haha

no worries if not of course! thank you for sharing your writing with us :D

of course!! as a sylus girlie myself, this was extremely adorable to write 🥹 also im soso glad my writing was able to help comfort u<3

.  𓂃 ଓ ۪   ݁ FOR YOU, ALWAYS 𓈒      s

SUMMARY: after a long, exhausting day, you break down on the couch, overwhelmed and alone—until Sylus comes home. he notices your tears instantly. cold and composed to everyone else, he becomes soft for you, pulling you into his arms without hesitation. he offers quiet comfort, steady affection, and a simple promise: whatever you need, he’s yours.

WC: 570 <3

NOTES: quite short but it has all the fluffy caring sylus🙏 send in more reqs, id love to do them!!!

The apartment is quiet except for the faint hum of the city beyond the windows and the occasional sniffle you try to muffle in the blanket pressed against your face.

You’re curled up on the couch, wrapped in one of Sylus’s oversized hoodies—the only thing offering any comfort right now. The day had just been too much. Everything that could’ve gone wrong did. You’d held yourself together all the way home, but once the door shut behind you, it all crumbled. The tears came fast. Silent, angry, frustrated.

You weren’t even sure what was hurting more—the stress, or the way it all felt so… lonely.

The lock clicks.

You freeze, sitting up a little too quickly, hurriedly trying to wipe your face, but it’s useless—your eyes are red, cheeks blotchy, nose stuffy. You barely get the blanket up before the door opens.

Sylus steps in, sharp-eyed and unbothered as ever in his dark coat and gloves, shutting the door behind him with a quiet thud. He’s already scanning the room before he’s fully through it—and then his gaze lands on you.

His cold, calculating expression falters. Only for a second. But it’s enough.

He doesn’t speak right away. Just shrugs off his coat, tosses it to the side, and moves toward you with quiet steps.

“You’ve been crying.”

He doesn’t ask. He states it. Calm, observant, as if pointing out the obvious. But his voice—low and cool as it is—has a subtle shift. A soft undercurrent.

“I’m fine,” you lie, wiping your face again.

He stops in front of you, tilts his head just slightly, studying you the same way he analyzes the world around him. And then—without asking—he kneels down beside the couch, resting his arms on the cushion next to your legs.

“Liar.”

You let out a watery breath, trying to smile. “It’s nothing serious. Just… one of those days.”

His fingers brush against your knee, gentle despite the gloves, and then he peels them off, setting them aside. The moment his bare hand touches your leg, it’s grounding—warm, steady.

“Who do I need to hurt?” he asks flatly, as if that’s a normal offer.

You laugh softly through your tears. “It’s not like that.”

Sylus narrows his eyes slightly. Then sighs. He rises, leans down, and scoops you up from the couch without warning.

“Wha—Sylus!”

“Shut up.” It’s not mean. It’s just him. “You’re clearly falling apart and your first instinct is to hide from me?”

He carries you easily, settling down on the couch with you in his lap like you belong there—and you kind of do. His arms wrap around you, one hand smoothing down your back, the other settling on your thigh. Not possessive. Not demanding. Just there. Steady. Solid.

“I hate seeing you like this,” he murmurs after a beat. “Tell me what you need. Say the word, and I’ll get it. I’ll do it. Anything, you know that."

You don’t respond right away, just bury your face in his neck and let yourself breathe him in.

“I just wanted you.”

He exhales like the answer physically affects him. His hold tightens around you.

“You have me,” he says, softer this time. “You always have me.”

And for the next hour, he doesn’t let go. Doesn’t pull away. Just holds you close, his fingers tracing idle circles on your skin, whispering things he’d never dare say out loud in front of anyone else.

Only for you.